Little Town
by civilwarrose
Summary: A portrait of the village after Gaston's death. LeFou and the triplets try to cope with life without their hero, Belle attempts to make peace with her old home, and an Enchantress pays a visit.
1. Aftermath

**Little Town**

**Beauty and the Beast**

**Disney owns Beauty and the Beast and its characters.**

Chapter 1- Aftermath

Rain continued to pour throughout the night in the dawning hours of March 5, 1770, in the mountainous eastern region of France. The spires of a tall castle were silhouetted against the sky, as lightning continued to strike in increasing intensity.

In the deep forest underbrush, four weapons- two muskets, an arrow, and a sword- were moving on their own, enchanted by magic, toward the direction of the castle.

Even more peculiar was the fact that voices, hard to hear in the storm, but audible- were issuing from the four weapons.

"Did you hear that?"

"_Oui,_ I just heard it! People screaming at the castle- a terrible commotion! What is going on?"

"Well _something_ is going on, _mon frere,_ and we are going to be in big trouble if we aren't there to help!"

The four weapons were supposed to be guarding the perimeter of the castle. But, as they often did, they had wandered deeper into the forest, hunting animals. They "hunted" by literally throwing themselves, or firing at, unsuspecting creatures for their own amusement, as well as to help provide the raw meat that the Master had developed a taste for.

Upon hearing the sounds of an uproar back home, they sped up as fast as they could in the direction of the castle. After several minutes of dodging soaked undergrowth and evergreen branches, they reached the clearing and the outer border of the castle grounds. Rain continued to drench the rooftops and stone gargoyle statues of the immense palace.

The four objects possessed faces with tiny eyes, and a moment later they were blinded by a streak of light that soared upwards from one of the highest balconies and exploded in multicolored fireworks in the sky.

In a matter of seconds, the fireworks rained down upon the earth, and the four sentient weapons were showered with golden sparks. In an instant, they were levitated up for a moment and then fell, each of them hitting the muddy, cold ground with a heavy thud.

They immediately felt themselves much bigger and heavier than they were moments before. The sword looked before him and saw a pair of human arms and hands spread out in front of him. They were his own.

"What is going _on_, Noel? I- I'm a _person_ again!" he heard a few meters away.

The former sword's name was Noel, and the exclamation he just heard mirrored his own surprised thoughts. It was his brother's voice who'd just called out to him in the darkness, a voice which for long years had been attached to an enchanted arrow. Noel looked down to his torso and legs, and sure enough- he was human again.

His brother, Luc, came running up to him.

"Noel! It's you! You look a lot older, _mon frere_!"

Noel struggled to lift himself to his shaky feet. In an instant, his weight had gone from just a pound or so to about two hundred pounds. He sensed that he now stood over six feet tall, no longer the young adolescent boy he'd been before the curse. He also felt cold and wet from the pouring rain, which had not bothered him before but now was most uncomfortable. He gazed at his brother in shock.

"You are no child yourself, either, Luc! Look at you!" Luc's wavy blonde hair and blue eyes were recognizable, but his body was that of a man's, not a twelve year old boy's. The brothers ran to each other, embracing.

Two other men approached. The muskets had also transformed into human beings. One was nearly as tall as the brothers, with short dark hair and a slim build. The other was squat and of husky build, with bushy brown hair and a beard.

"Jean! Yann! _Mon dieu_, this is incredible!" exclaimed Luc. He was about to run to his colleagues and embrace them, but Yann, the bearded man, was anxious to rush toward the palace grounds.

"No time for celebrations, men. Something big is going on at the castle, and we need to hurry and find out what it is! Let's go!" he commanded.

They hadn't gone very far from exiting the forest and running on unsteady feet toward the grounds when they spotted a form in a ravine pit, at the foot of a mountain near a corner of the castle. Noel, Luc, Jean, and Yann could see it was the form of a person, lying sprawled in a shallow stream of water created by melted snow.

The four men lumbered to the figure on the ground, and stared at it in shock.

It was a dead man.

His hulking body was in an awkward position, flat on his back but twisted and his limbs looking broken. Torchlights on the side of the castle dimly illuminated the details of the corpse. His face was bloodless white, and his pale blue eyes stared upwards at the sky; sightless, unblinking, as rain poured into them. He wore a red tunic soaked with blood, and one foot was missing a black boot. A pool of blood was beneath the head, matting his soaked, shiny black hair, mixing with the stream of cold rainwater and seeping into the patches of melting snow, turning the slushy ground a macabre shade of pink.

The four royal servants looked at one another. "Who _was_ this?" asked Luc incredulously. "I don't recognize him from before.. I would have remembered this fellow, he's _huge_!"

Truly, the dead man was Herculean in his physique. Even with the twisted, broken limbs, he obviously had been even taller than Luc and Noel were now, and his muscular arms were almost as big around as Jean's and Luc's torsos.

"We will find out later," replied Yann, the oldest of the four. "First thing we need to do is go into the castle and find out what in heaven's name is going _on_ tonight!"

The four ran as fast as they could around to the front entrance of the castle, slipping and sliding up the long staircase on unsteady feet. In the sudden breaking light of morning, they could see that the staircase, and the castle's architecture, had changed. The gargoyle statues had changed back into cherub angels. The two huge wooden doors were flung wide open, and when they entered, everything was in disarray. Small objects were scattered about, yet there was a feeling of peace and light in the main foyer which had not been there before.

"Your Grace! Are you here?" Yann called out to the Master. His main concern was that nothing had happened to the Master. It was his and the three others' responsibility as the official castle guards.

A group of people came running down the stairs. They were all very familiar to the guards, even though they hadn't seen them as humans for so many years. Cogsworth, Mrs. Potts, Lumiere, and the small boy known as Chip descended on the main foyer.

Dozens of other people came running in from both the West Wing and the East Wing, all babbling and shouting with excitement. Madame de La Grande Bouche, the armoire, was now a tall, large-built lady in a green dress. The coat rack was now a tall man in his thirties in a green top hat. The iron cookstove was now a portly, bushy-eyebrowed older man in a chef's hat. Two armchairs with heart-shaped backs were now young women; the former pink one was a short, buxom blonde, the former olive-green one a willowy brunette.

"The spell! It is finally broken!" Lumiere was proclaiming loudly.

"The Master is coming down as of this moment," said Cogsworth, trying hard to hide his giddiness and eager to take control of the situation.

The guards gazed up at the staircase and gasped.

The Master- he was human! Prince Adam was now a tall, well-built, handsome young man in his early twenties with long, light chestnut-gold hair and chiseled features. On his arm was the beautiful girl, Belle, who he had been keeping as prisoner since last autumn. He was holding her close as they descended the stairs, and both were glowing with happiness. It was obvious now that they were in love.

"Congratulations, Your Grace," greeted Yann, bowing. "We need to speak with you for a moment, however. There is a problem- can you step outside with us?"

Adam had trouble remembering the faces of the four men, but quickly realized their identity as having been the weapon-guards. He didn't recall much about them before, since they had been youths before the transformation, not much older than he was.

"There has been a casualty, Your Grace. A man has been found dead on the castle grounds. Near the southwest corner. We have no idea who he was."

Adam's face turned grim, a shadow of anger on his now-handsome young visage. "Gentlemen, I ask that you do the duty of taking the man's body to the village, where he came from. Follow the path down the valley and through the northern woods, it goes directly to a village called Molyneux. Belle informed me there is a church in the village. Take the body there. Do _not_ tell anyone you meet there where you are from. Just say you were travelers. Then come back here immediately. That is an order!"

The four men descended the steps and headed to the horse stables, to procure a horse and wagon.

Belle, coming up to Adam's side, was beginning to become distraught again. "Now I feel as if I will never be able to return to my old home again... and neither can Papa. He will be ostracized even more now. May he stay with us from now on?"

He softened as he looked to his lady love. "He certainly may. I owe him an apology for the way I had treated him in the past. I want to make it up to him now, any way I can. But you, Belle- I never want you to set foot in that village again."

"What? Adam-" she was now getting used to using his true name- "I need to get all of our things together in our cottage and even say goodbye to some people! I don't want there to be ill will between us and the people outside the palace walls forever. I will need to go back soon!" She looked up at him indignantly.

Prince Adam sighed and looked down at his sweetheart. "Very well, then. It's just that...I worry about you and want you to be happy with me. I do not wish to make enemies. It is just that my impression of your townspeople is...not very good right now. I want to protect you." He embraced her close.

Belle embraced him back and remembered something that the bookstore owner had told her almost a year before, when she had just moved to Molyneux, a lonely nineteen year old girl with her aging widowed father. He had told her the tale of the royal palace in the mountains, just a short distance away and beyond the woods, which he said had been the home of an aristocratic couple who had both died in an epidemic. They had a young son, but he was never confirmed dead or alive, and no one had ever seen or heard from him for years. It was assumed by the locals that the 'lost Prince' had been taken in by other relatives, shunted off to the grander cities of France.

The castle, the bookseller had told Belle, was empty and abandoned. People who ventured near it thought it looked fearsome and foreboding, and no one had dared to enter it. Until that one fateful night last fall, when her Papa was desperate for shelter.

Belle came to the realization that the 'lost Prince,' who had been assumed to be living elsewhere, could be warmly welcomed by the villagers if given a chance to meet him. How wonderful it could be if she could introduce everyone to the man she loved. _A prince in disguise_... her favorite storybook had become her destiny. She knew the townspeople back home could never believe her. But she felt the need to make peace with her old home, even if it meant only telling half the truth.

* * *

Still early that morning, a wagon circled into the small town as it was still sleeping. It was much more likely to stay quiet this day than most days, for the fact that so many of the able-bodied, adult male population of the town were suffering from mild to severe injuries. Their wives, parents or neighbors had taken care of them and sent them to bed; and the only doctor in the village was rushing to and fro, trying to tend to the most severe cases. As the doctor disappeared into one of the cottages, bag of bandages and bucket of warm water in hand, the village now empty of people on the streets, the wagon stopped in front of the white clapboard church.

The driver of the wagon approached the parsonage on the side of the church, and knocked on the door. A older man dressed in the collar and garb of a priest answered.

"Bonjour! What can I help you with so early this morning?"

"Pardon us, but there has been a fatality near your village. It was near the huge castle we were passing by. We discovered a man's body, and we need to have him identified. He may be one of your own."

The priest, Pere Gerard-Emile, followed the driver, the palace guard Yann, to the back of the wagon. Jean, Noel, and Luc removed the wool blanket from a large wooden box. The clergyman gasped, his face going pale.

"_Non_! It cannot be! This man is one of ours, and he was the strongest man in our community! The pillar of our town!" He put both hands to his temples in worry. Molyneux was not going to take this news very well.

"Gaston de Soleil," he whispered.


	2. A Funeral

Chapter 2- A Funeral

A day later, the entire population of Molyneux gathered in the churchyard of Saint-Lucien, the majority of them in a state of numbed shock. Pere Gerard-Emile droned on in a somber stream of Latin, a language that the residents typically associated with marriage and death when they heard it.

The crowd was mostly silent and reverent, with the exception of three, who stood near the front shaking with high-pitched sobs. The blonde girls were nearly unrecognizable in their prim black dresses, their long golden locks pulled back and tucked into bonnets. Their mother, Madame Lea Beaudette, insisted that her daughters dress properly for their friend's funeral, "friend" being the only word she could think of to describe the young man who had been the hope of her family for years. Madame Beaudette was a widow, and Gigi, Mimi, and Fifi were the most physically attractive single young ladies in the village. Both mother and daughters' greatest wish was for one of the three to become the true love and possible bride of Gaston de Soleil. The problem was, _which one_, and it was the cause of a great deal of caterwauling and bickering within their home. But today, the question would be put to rest forever.

Lea Beaudette could do nothing but touch each of her daughters on the shoulder as one, then two, then all three, doubled over weeping and wailing.

"No, no, he _can't_ be dead!" sobbed Mimi.

"Not Gaston! Please, no!" wailed Fifi.

"It can't be true! it can't, it can't! Oh, my God!" shouted Gigi in a keening cry.

A man by the name of Stephan Moreau and his brother, Gilles, were also standing near the front. Worry and concern was etched on their faces. Stephan, who was nicknamed "Stanley," was the village butcher. His livelihood was certain to be ruined now. Over half of the animals he processed into good edible meat had been provided by Gaston's excellent hunting prowess. No one else had been able to bring in the daily supply of large game- the venison, wild boar, elk, and delectable turkey and goose. No other little village in that region of France was as well fed as Molyneux. Personally, he regarded Gaston as just a casual friend, a drinking buddy, but he depended on him completely.

Gilles Moreau had a similar concern. He owned a little farm on the edge of town, and was forever being disturbed by animals attacking his goats and sheep. Whenever Gaston slaughtered a wild boar or bear, it made it more likely that that creature would never slay his livestock, plus it financially compensated for his loss by contributing to the Moreau brothers' meat venture. Who, Gilles thought, will ever take his place? It had been Gaston's father before that- Jerome de Soleil- who'd been the town's skilled hunter. Now, Gaston was dead at twenty-five, no sons or brothers to succeed him.

The baker- stocky, red-bearded Andre Desjardins, and his wife, Marie, were also in the crowd. Their teenage sons Pierre and Paul were by their side. The boys were in a state of shock. How could he be dead- he seemed invincible! For years, they and all the other young boys aspired to be just like the greatest hunter in the whole world. They had little time to hunt, as the bakery needed as many hands as possible, but since they were little, they'd take their bows and guns and practice as much as they could. Their mother had secretly wondered why Gaston never took the younger boys in the village under his tutorage and taught them his secrets in the art of hunting. She correctly assumed he was just too arrogant and proud, but kept this thought to herself. After all, Andre and the boys worshipped him like all the rest, and her husband's opinion was final.

Pere Gerard-Emile switched from the Latin formality to a personal eulogy.

"It is so difficult for us to fathom the loss of this great, powerful young man, cut down too soon in the prime of his life. We bid adieu to him now, and when we gaze upon the constellation of Orion the Hunter on a clear night, may we remember that Gaston is among the great hunters of the past, and his spirit shall inspire us all throughout our lives."

At that point, a short, pudgy man near the front collapsed in a heap on the ground, burying his face in his sleeves.

Pere Gerard-Emile finally spoke the last benediction for the dead. The simple, large wooden coffin lay near him, a gaping hole already dug in the muddy soil. A grey stone was freshly inscribed and lying near the pit.

_Gaston Jerome de Soleil. 1745-1770. Requiescat in Pace._

The clergyman gestured for the crowd to be dismissed. The townspeople, the sobbing triplets included, turned to leave. Except for one.

A few people near the front looked in pity at the two men nearest the coffin and the newly-dug grave and shook their heads. Old Claude-Robert Lefou was trying his best to console his twenty-five year old son.

"Come on, son...let's go home."

The small older man with a big nose and grey muttonchop whiskers was bent over his cane, patting the shoulder of the short, chubby young man who sat on the muddy ground, completely still and silent. His face, which typically had worn a comical or happy-go-lucky expression, was now the picture of despair. He didn't budge.

"Please- let's go now. There is nothing you can do for him."

No response.

"Monsieur, I will sit with him for a while. You may go." Madame Desjardins said gently as she and her husband stepped forward to relieve the father of this awkward moment. Claude-Robert shrugged and followed the rest of the crowd, and Andre and Marie both crouched in the grass next to Ignatius Antoine Lefou, usually called only by his surname, who considered himself to be Gaston's best friend since boyhood.

The baker and his wife had to sit there for quite a while, since Lefou showed no intention of leaving the gravesite. When the couple finally left, whispering a somber, "I'm so sorry," they were hardly noticed. The visiting undertakers had no choice but to bury Gaston with a mourner still watching.

* * *

There was a visitor to Molyneux that night. A woman came wandering in around the edge of town, following the wooded trail from the direction of Prince Adam's castle. The tall, exquisite looking woman in a fine green gown had been stewing in frustration and worry for the last two days. The unthinkable had happened- the selfish, spoiled Beast-Prince had broken her elaborate spell! And her father- how would he react when he found out?

For years, Delphine Dufresne, a member of a family of the most powerful- and rebellious- rogue Enchanted folk, had been both praised and villified for her punishment of a royal French mortal boy. Some of the Enchanters held a disdainful superiority over non-magical people, while others in the magical society believed in a policy of peace, using magic only for themselves in secret and living side-by-side with mortals. The two sides collided often, with wars being fought over the issue for as long as generations of Enchanters could remember.

Delphine and her father, the dark sorcerer Quentin Dufresne, were of the anti-mortal faction, and they took great sport in wrecking magical havoc on unsuspecting mortals, often in the guise of punishing them for proven character flaws. She was known in those circles as the "Beast Enchantress", for being bold enough to cast the unfortunate _Homme-B__ête _curse on the unsuspecting eleven year old orphan prince, as well as casting the nearly-as-cruel _Objecter_ spell on on his entire household. Other Enchanters labeled her as the vilest criminal for her deed.

Delphine held her wand in the direction of the village and picked up an audible sound of negative emotion and despair. She heard crying and sobbing of various people in her mind's ear, and snippets of angry conversation about a "Beast."

It was quite a contrast from the mood of the castle, where celebration and joy had reigned for two days.

Behind the trees, in the dusk of evening, Delphine swept her wand over her own body. She transformed into a homely old woman in a ragged dress and shawl.

The humble beggar woman entered the village main street and strolled around the little shops and buildings. She didn't really know why she decided to come here; Delphine enjoyed the glamour of parties and secret rogue gatherings among other Enchanters, and that was where she was going to be headed soon- but her curiosity when it came to mortal _sans_-_magiques_ was a quirk of hers. Who was the man so great that this whole town mourned so over him? What did people do when they had no supernatural powers, and how did they compensate? Her parents had taught her to disdain them, yet she wanted to study the lowly humans, as well as up her quota by casting a little hex or two if she could.

She walked near a bakery, the little shingle sign read _Boulangerie_. They were closing for the night. She was about to pass when a boy came out of the back door. He had a few loaves of bread in his hands. The baker's son, Pierre Desjardins, was about to feed the stale leftovers to the farmers' livestock. He saw Delphine, and looking her straight in the eye, with a friendly and generous air, tossed her one of the loaves of bread. "All we can spare, madame."

She caught it. "_Merci_," she muttered, then when he went back in, she tossed the bread aside, grumpily. She left him alone. A part of her wondered if she should secretly reward them sometimes for good character rather than punishing them for flawed character. But her father would find out, and be furious. Only pro-mortals performed those charms.

No one else seemed to be out that evening. There was what appeared to be a tavern in front of the fountain in the very center of the village, but it was closed and empty. She finally came to the edge of town to a road leading to a farm. A second denizen appeared right in front of her, a farmer carrying a bucket of water, toward a pen filled with a half dozen sheep and a few goats. He looked cross and sullen.

"Pardon me, kind monsieur, but I am a starving widow from another village and I wish to purchase one of your sheep. I can only pay you with this rose." A rose had appeared in her hand.

Gilles Moreau scoffed. "A rose? My sheep are worth five francs each. I don't take flowers, lady. Leave me alone!"

"But you cannot see the worth of a rose? Why, it may be a gift for your wife, monsieur! Your only concern is money, and the love of money is the root of all evil," she lectured to the man.

"You're crazy!" Gilles shook his head and continued down the path to his cottage.

"You shall be taught a lesson.." she softly called to his back. At this point, she would have transformed into her beautiful younger self, but since he was walking away, she saw no need. She gazed at the group of white sheep in the pen, and pulled her magic wand from her shawl. She pointed it at the livestock.

The robust, fluffy sheep and little billy goats shrunk down to the size of kittens.

The Enchantress went back to the forest and conjured up a little tent with a cozy bed to camp out for the night. She was in a much better mood, and hoped to play some additional pranks- perhaps one of her minor, forty-eight hour long hexes- on the villagers the next day as well.


	3. Odd Things and a Sidekick's Memories

Chapter 3- Odd Things, and a Sidekick's Memories

The next morning, farmer Gilles Moreau came out to feed his sheep and after a moment of shock, he began cursing at the top of his lungs. How on earth could this possibly happen? Was he seeing things?

He jumped up and down in rage, throwing his brown tricorn hat on the ground and stomping on it.

"_Mon Dieu_, what happened to my sheep? And…my goats too? _Who did this_?"

His seven sheep were about four inches high, and his three goats were about the same. The tiny little creatures hopped about the yellow March grass, happily frolicking as if the world was new. Their 'baa' vocalizations were barely audible.

Gilles reached down and scooped up a miniature sheep, cupping her in his hands and petting her fluffy wool. He frowned. At this size, all the wool from the sheep combined would amount to barely half-a-sou. He was _just_ getting caught up on his bills, too. Debts he'd incurred in past months had resulted in the embarrassing consequence of being locked in the stocks. Worse yet, his wife Mathilde would nag and scold about them not being able to afford six eggs for their five young children.

Gilles set down the sheep and ran as fast as he could to the butcher's shop, and burst in on his brother, who was violently plucking the feathers off a chicken.

"STANLEY!" he yelled. "Come and look at this!"

"What?"

"Just- get out to my field!" He led Stanley out to his farm, just a few minutes' walk away, and pointed. "See anything unusual?"

Stanley's mouth gaped. He gave his brother a quizzical look. "Um…Gilles, if I say anything do you promise not to report me to Monsieur D'Arque?"

"Not if you don't report _me_ to him."

Stanley continued to stare, thinking. "Well, maybe you could sell them to the traveling carnival show." He burst into laughter at his own joke. "OW!" Stanley rubbed his backside. The painful burns had not quite healed yet. Somehow, just a few nights ago, he'd had a strange encounter with a candelabrum.

Gilles turned and headed back to his house, grumpily. He had to prevent his wife and children from going out to the field.

An old, ragged woman passed by the men quietly and stopped near the sheep pen. With a look of determined concentration, she pulled a wooden stick out of her shawl after Stanley had headed back to his butcher shop.

"_Agrandir_," she whispered.

* * *

The rest of the grieving village was slowly awakening and beginning to go about their normal business. In a small cottage at the end of the main street, old Claude-Robert Lefou was up early as usual, saying his morning prayers in an easy chair while clutching his rosary beads. His son was not up yet, which was unusual. The younger Lefou had finally come home the evening before and hadn't said a word. The more the heartbroken man slept, the better.

A knock came on the door.

"Come on in," said Claude-Robert.

It was the town clerk, Jacques LaBlanc. He came in with a sheaf of papers in his hand. "May I speak to your son, please?"

"I think he's still sleeping, but…I guess I could wake him. Is- is it important?" he asked meekly. Jacques had that 'official-business' look on his face.

"Yes, it is."

Claude-Robert knocked on his son's door. "The town clerk wants to speak with you!" he said reluctantly.

A hoarse and sleepy voice answered from the bedroom. "What?"

"I said, the town clerk, Monseiur LaBlanc wants to speak to you!"

Monsieur LaBlanc gestured to the papers in his hand. "Tell him it concerns Gaston de Soleil."

"It is something about Gaston!"

The door opened after a few seconds. Lefou's eyes were red and swollen. He had a bad headache and he looked bedraggled. "What… what about him?"

"It concerns his estate, Monsieur. You were named as the recipient of his property if he were to die without living relatives or heirs." The clerk handed him the papers.

"I- I can't really read most of this… huh? What?" The papers were covered with big words and sophisticated legalese.

"The de Soleil tavern belongs to you now. As well as the de Soleil family home, Gaston's horse, and all of his other possessions. Congratulations." Monsieur LaBlanc smiled.

A pained look came over Lefou's face. "He just died two days ago. I still can't just…"

"Maybe this is too soon. You should talk to my son later." Claude-Robert suggested to the clerk. The man seemed a bit insensitive.

"Pardon me, I didn't mean to be rude. My condolences in the light of Monsieur de Soleil's untimely demise. And…" the clerk took a key chain from his pocket- "here are the keys to the house and the tavern. Again, they are yours."

Monsieur LaBlanc smiled what could be called a politician's smile. Lefou wasn't in the mood for it. Monsieur LaBlanc wore silk culottes and lacy cravats, and was one of the few men in town, besides Lefou's own devoutly religious, teetotaling father, who rarely set foot in Gaston's tavern.

LaBlanc continued, "It was a good thing the lawyer from Thionville pressed him to name at least _someone_. That stubborn young man was so certain he'd have a half-dozen sons, so it took some time to convince him about what would happen in case he didn't _have_ sons! Truly a pity, we were all proud of that boy...irreplaceable, he was. Good day, monsieurs." The official handed the keys to Lefou and took his leave.

Lefou looked at the keys and the papers and shook his head incredulously. "Why me? Why would he..."

After a moment, he was able to understand a few of the words in the fancy-written will. _"In the event that I become deceased with no heirs or blood relatives, I, Gaston de Soleil, bequeath all of my property to my personal friend and employee, Ignatius Lefou."_

"Well, don't question it," replied his father. "The way I see it is this- Gaston was admired, celebrated, a popular man. But he didn't have anyone else who was really close to him. You were devoted. Loyal. I hoped he'd do something good for you-" at that, his son looked like he'd spoken a blasphemy- "I mean, that he would do something good for you _again_. Ever since you were boys..."

The older man shrugged, trying to choose his words carefully, as not to offend-"you have been nothing but loyal- _too much_ so, to the point of being a bootlicker to him. I understand _why_ you were, but... finally, now that he's gone... I'm sorry."

His son ducked into his bedroom quickly to be alone; he felt the waterworks coming to his eyes again. After all those years of sycophantic service, offering a listening ear as Gaston's right hand man, he'd finally been treated with respect by him- posthumously.

A little while later, Lefou trudged slowly and sadly along the street to the door of the tavern. He took the key and opened it, preparing himself for the wave of pain that would pierce him as soon as he walked into the place. He hadn't been there for quite a long time- weeks actually. The coldhearted (for him, _literally_ cold) scheme known as the Maurice DeFleur affair had kept him from coming in and joining the usual merriment. He'd been doing as Gaston ordered him to, of course, but it had been grueling, and the more he thought about it, the more it had been eating at his conscience of late, especially now.

The animal heads on the wall were dappled in morning sun, and dust specks floated about the spacious bar room. It was as if the place also felt empty, and sensed its owner was gone forever.

The portrait was over the fireplace. He couldn't bear to look at it.

Lefou had one mission in mind on this miserable day, and it was to drink all the beer in the tap barrel until he went unconscious and could hopefully sleep the rest of his life away. If he was awake and sober any longer he'd just feel the Gaston-sized void more painfully. So grabbing a large tankard, he lumbered back to the rear room and opened the tap barrel, filling it with strong, concentrated beer. It hadn't gone bad, it had just aged and strengthened. Good. He sat at one of the tables in the bar room, alone, and guzzled one mug after another. Memory after memory flashed through his mind.

* * *

Thirteen years before, he was following Gaston in the snowy meadow as Gaston was heading out to the forest with his arrows and bow. They were both twelve years old. Gaston looked even older than that, as he had shot up in height over the last year and had developed the trappings of a soon to be man. Lefou, the smaller boy, did not seem to be about to grow much taller than four foot nine, and was frequently teased for it.

He wanted to come along hunting with the more popular boy so badly. Gaston was one of the only boys in town his exact age, and he didn't wish to spend the day with his terrorizing older sister. He ran eagerly toward Gaston as the latter begin to step out onto the frozen lake, crossing it to get to the part of the woods where the big buck deer were known to be.

"Hi Gaston!"

"What do you want?" Gaston was irritated.

"Can I come hunting with you?"

"No. Go home to your mother. What are you, five or six? You can't hunt!" He sneered and kept walking.

"I'm twelve just like you. You know that!" the smaller boy whined.

"Well, you _look_ like you're six. Goodbye!"

Lefou stepped onto the ice and continued to trail him. "Aw, come on, please? Can't I come? I won't talk! Just like in lessons. Madame Rondeau says I'm the quietest and the most-"

"SHUT UP!" Gaston had left the edge of the frozen lake and continued to stomp through the deep snow for the woods.

"Please?" Lefou started to run faster. He was in the middle of the lake.

"Quit following me!" Gaston and his fine fox-fur cape, black breeches and boots disappeared in the pines.

The ice beneath Lefou's boots started to make a strange groaning and crackling sound. In an instant, the ice shattered beneath him and he found himself falling into deep, painfully frigid water. Blackness surrounded the terrified boy as he tried to open his mouth to scream, but ice-cold water went into his mouth. The water was deeper than he was tall. This was it. He was going to drown here...

A hand gripped his coat and he was being lifted and carried out of the icy lake, thrown over a fox-fur clad shoulder. This particular memory was fuzzy and surreal, but he still remembered it to this day. He was roughly thrown into the snow, and still shivering and blue with cold, he looked up into the tall, strong boy's face. Gaston's light-blue eyes were cold and he still wore a sneer.

"Gaston..." he choked, coughing and wheezing.

"You were almost dead. Now get lost and go home, stupid!"

A woman's voice called out, "_Mon Dieu_! There they are! What in the world-" Both of the boys' mothers had been looking for their sons, since neither had told them where they were going. The shorter, stouter woman of the two rushed around the side of the lake and knelt down to her son's side. She screamed in panic.

"What happened?" Madame Jeanne Lefou shrieked. She took off her shawl and covered her dazed and frozen son with it.

"I just pulled him out of the lake. He fell in! I'm glad _I_ was here," said Gaston, matter-of-factly. A proud smile played upon his lips.

The other woman, a tall, very attractive lady in her thirties with dark hair and pale blue eyes, approached the group. Hearing her boy's admission, she gushed with pride. "Gaston- you are a hero! You saved little Iggy's life!"

Sprawled in the snow, Lefou lifted his head in annoyance at the use of the childish nickname. "Don't call me that... but yeah, Gaston saved me-" he coughed and spat water- "Thank you Gaston..."

His mother shushed him. "Shh. Just try to breathe, dear...How can we _ever_ thank you, Gaston? Such a strong, fine heroic boy you are," Jeanne declared, her big brown eyes welling with tears. "Oh, Genevieve, your son deserves a medal! An honor! We must call a town meeting- he's proven himself a true man today!"

The cocky twelve year old puffed up his chest with pride. "Eh, I've been a true man for a long time, but now you grownups finally got it." He crossed his arms and smiled contentedly, the smile turning to a smirk.

After that day, the boy could do no wrong in the town's eyes. With his physical strength and hunting prowess, he was the star of the village before even reaching the age of manhood. His unchecked ego continued to inflate for years to come.

Meanwhile, the smaller boy he'd yanked out of the lake that day became his constant shadow and one-man cheering section ever afterward.

* * *

Lefou was on his fourth mug. He owed his life to Gaston. If it weren't for him, well, he'd be buried up in that churchyard right along with the graves of his mother Jeanne, and Jerome and Genevieve de Soleil, and now... Gaston...

Time for a refill. He stumbled back to the keg. He passed a curious looking animal mounted on the wall, and it made him remember a day last October...

* * *

They were doubled over in a fit of laughing outside the DeFleur cottage. An explosion had racked the crazy old loon's house, and the lovely-but-odd girl, Belle, had rushed off to tend to her father. Who knows what the lunatic was up to that day.

"She's going to be my wife tomorrow. No mistake about that." announced Gaston suddenly, after their laughing subsided.

"Huh- _tomorrow_? How can you marry her that soon? Don't you have to..."

"Court her?" Gaston laughed. "Forget the fancy stuff Lefou. I am going to _surprise_ her. We are going to set up the wedding tomorrow morning. _You_ are going to help me."

"But-"

"No 'buts.' Go find those men who play instruments to meet here in the morning. You will conduct the band, just like you do at every Christmas party. Tell them to play...wedding stuff. I'll arrange for the wedding to be set up right outside her door! She'll have no choice but to marry me."

"But don't you think she-"

"She will have the surprise of her life! She's going to marry ME! Won't that make her happy?" Gaston was pacing up and down the street like a peacock. He walked back up to Lefou, who was carrying a pile of animal hides in his arms. He grabbed them from him, and looked at them for a moment.

"The Beaudette girls will be a little..." Lefou started to say.

"I'll deal with the Beaudette sisters. There will be plenty of _me_ left for them, if you know what I mean." He winked.

He knew perfectly well what Gaston meant. He did almost everything with his best friend- hunting, running the pub, playing cards- but there was _one_ arena where he was left out in the cold, and that was the world of _l'amour_ with women. He had to face it, there were two categories of women in the tiny town of Molyneux- those who were married, and those who were in love with Gaston only. And well, the _one_ exception who loved paper and binding and her crazy father, who his friend was so obsessed with. Life wasn't fair sometimes.

Gaston was looking at the animal hides in contemplation, his brow furrowed as if he were... thinking.

Oh, no, this wasn't good.

"Lefou! You know we had a bad day hunting. I _always_ do better than this! Look at this- a runty little deer, a raccoon, Stanley _hates_ raccoons, there's no meat! And a little badger, Stanley will _laugh_ at this! And that goose. Pathetic day today." He shook his head. He could sense that his reputation was on the line.

"I have to do something tonight- I have to announce my engagement to Belle, and the men need to see a good kill for the day... so here!" He threw the pile of animal hides on top of his short companion with a force that sent him falling backwards and flat on his back on the ground, the raccoon tail landing on his face.

"Sew all these together. Make a new animal out of it. I have to show off my kill."

"What kind of animal am I supposed to make..." His voice was muffled by raccoon tail fur.

"A _rare_ one, Lefou. And you have until seven o' clock tonight. Get it done!" Gaston commanded.

Lefou picked himself off the ground and ran with newfound excitement back to his own house, pile of furs in hand. He rushed in, past his father who was sitting in his usual chair by the fire, gazing up at the painting of his late wife Jeanne sadly, in typical fashion.

"Pop, d'ya have any sewing thread?"

"Look in Iolanthe's old room. She had some in a drawer." A curious look crossed Claude-Robert's face. "When did you learn to sew?"

That evening, at seven, Gaston was seated in his big, furry, horned throne of a chair, by the pub's fireplace surrounded by Gilles and Stanley Moreau, one-toothed Tomas "Tom" Dumarre, burly Richard-Louis "Dick" Revelle, baker Andre Desjardins, the youngish, heavyset Jacques Jauquet and Jacques' girlfriend, the red-haired, part-time barmaid Colette Champlain, and the swooning triplets Mimi, Gigi and Fifi Beaudette.

"I have an announcement to make, ladies and gentlemen. I am getting married...tomorrow!"

Gigi gasped, and Fifi and Mimi wrung their hands with nervousness. _Please don't let it be that Belle, please don't let it be that Belle..._

"So who's the lucky pick, Gaston?" asked Tom.

"Belle DeFleur, of course!"

Gigi gasped again and squealed, incredulously, "Why her?" and she, followed by her two distraught sisters, ran out the door in a fit of despair.

As they were rushing out, Lefou came in, carrying... something. "I...uh, take it you made the happy announcement," he said, sheepishly. "Um... sorry I'm late."

"Oh, and _this_, gentlemen- was what I bagged in the forest today! Lefou! Tell everyone what I shot. It was a challenge, but I always get what I'm after." Gaston grinned, leaning back in his furry chair, his muscular arms behind his head.

"W-well, it's.. it's the rarest animal in the forest!" the nervous lackey stammered, holding the heavy conglomerate of carcasses in his arms. He'd sewed the immature buck deer, the raccoon and the badger all together so it made a unique animal with the cranium, antlers and back of a deer, the sharp teeth, claws and feet of a badger, and the rear end and bushy tail of a raccoon.

"And what did I decide to call it?" asked Gaston. "Remember? I found it, I took it, so I got to give the thing a name."

"It's- uh...," the little man racked his brain trying to think of a name for the creature, this bunch of furs all glomped together and sewed into a...

"It's a bunchaglomp!" Lefou exclaimed. "And it's really rare. Well... there was only _one_ of them in this whole region and now, there won't be anymore because... this was the last one. Right, Gaston?"

Gaston had given him a very brief annoyed look that seemed to say, _"What kind of a stupid name is that?"_ but quickly accepted his answer and nodded proudly. "That's right! And the Bunchaglomp is now an extinct animal, because _yours truly_ has finally slaughtered the very last one in all of France. Have a beer on me, folks."

The men all clapped Gaston on the back and congratulated him while they drank. Gaston reveled in the admiration, and he even took a moment to slap Lefou, somewhat roughly, on the back and say, "Good one, Lefou. I think we have a fine plan set up for my wedding tomorrow."

Lefou couldn't have been happier, basking in the brilliant sun of his great friend's glory that night...

After five or possibly six mugfuls of strong beer, Lefou fell asleep on the bear rug on the floor near the fireplace.


	4. The Triplets

_A.N. This chapter has more of a mature theme than what I usually write, it's why the whole story has a T rating. I managed to keep the events as discreet as I could, and it ends on a lighter note. _

Chapter 4- The Triplets

Also on that day after the funeral, in a pretty cottage right across from the tailor's shop and not far from the tavern, the Beaudette girls sat around, crying into their handkerchiefs.

"He used to say he needed me," Gigi disclosed.

"He said he needed me, too!" added Fifi, lifting reddened eyes from her handkerchief.

Gigi looked at her sisters woefully. "Did he ever say…'I love you'…to either of you?"

"No," Mimi and Fifi both replied.

Gigi sighed in relief. "He didn't say 'love' to me either. But he said 'need.' Need is close to love, isn't it?"

"It is," agreed Fifi, tears welling in her blue eyes anew. "I think that…we would have given him what he craved. We could have always been mistresses. Mistresses could have been more fun than being a wife, don't you think? No cooking, no cleaning, no wiping dirty nosed kids…"

"I would have had a _dozen_ of his kids!" wailed Gigi. This set all three in a fresh wave of weeping.

"If it weren't for that stuck-up girl and her stupid monster thing and-"

"Why did he go after it for _her_? What was so special about _her_?"

And on and on it went. The three girls were as one in their despair. They were mourning, but also angry at Belle. Gigi couldn't understand, she had to have loved Gaston the most of all. None of them could truly have him as their one and only, but as they grew desperate, they were willing to sully their reputations for him. They all recalled events that led up to one night that winter, in the pub…

* * *

The Beaudette sisters had been working as part time barmaids in Gaston's tavern for months, which was something that had horrified their mother at first. 'A most vulgar and lowbrow occupation,' Madame Beaudette had said. Yet the girls didn't care; they didn't like to sew, only Gigi liked to cook, but not for a crowd like in the cafe, and besides, they could spend much more time with Gaston that way.

During the daytime hours, they could never really spend time with the object of their affection. He hunted from daybreak to three in the afternoon, and then, he would work with Stanley the butcher and the general store owner on selling his meat and furs.

Every evening except Sundays, as the owner of the tavern, he'd open it with the help of Lefou and a red-haired lady in her thirties named Colette, a part time barmaid. But Colette had announced she was quitting her job come winter; she was engaged to be married to Jacques, her boyfriend. That left just Lefou as a bartender, who had the tendency to be clumsy and spill things, especially when he'd overindulge in one mug too much for his five-foot-one body. Gaston, of course, preferred sitting in his fur throne and holding court with the men to serving drinks.

So the girls had happily offered to pour and serve beer a few evenings a week. It gave them plenty of time to flirt with Gaston, and he'd usually flirt back with the curvaceous blondes. They were crushed in October, however, when the proposed wedding to Belle was announced- but the very next day, their hopes came back, as Belle had rejected him.

Then, shortly after, came the night of the first snowstorm of the fall. In the pub that night, after the men finished singing some silly song meant to help Gaston feel better, and Maurice DeFleur's strange announcement, Gaston started going off on some 'plan' involving Maurice. The girls overheard him, Lefou, and several other men agreeing that the wedding was back on! They were disappointed yet again when the discovered the 'marriage they will be celebrating' was not to any of them, but...Belle, who had been missing from town for a few days.

Weeks passed, and there was still no sighting of Belle. Every evening, Gaston became more and more cross and agitated. His mind was on Belle, in fact, she was all he talked of. The girls became quite cross as well. They would intentionally spill beer on patrons, refuse to clean anything up, and generally act disagreeable to the customers.

Gaston ignored all this. Despite his own moodiness, he seemed to be enjoying their behavior, and anytime anything was spilled, well, Lefou was happy to clean things up anyway. Lefou was annoying to the triplets, because he took Gaston's attention away from them. Why couldn't Gaston confide in or talk to _them_ instead?

Finally, one night, they lingered around until after the usual closing at midnight. Lefou was doing the same; sweeping the same spot on the floor and making bashful glances at the triplets, until Gaston yanked the broom out of his hands and told him quite crossly that the floor was clean enough, go home. After he left, looking dejected, the triplets sauntered up to Gaston and announced to him that they quit.

"Now, why would you want to quit? I thought you _loved_ spending every night with me," he said, grinning down at them, puffing up his chest as he was often apt to do.

Gigi, red-faced, spoke up for all three. "We do. But we don't like spending every night listening to you talk about...Belle."

His grin disappeared and he started to look angry. Fifi and Mimi lowered their eyes to the floor, just as dejected as their co-worker had been a few minutes before.

Gigi continued. "Belle is gone away, we don't know where, and she might not come back for a long time so we just think you should-"

"Belle _is_ coming back! She _is_ going to marry me!" His handsome face begin to look less handsome and more scary. Gigi burst into sobs. Mimi and Fifi followed suit.

Gaston's expression softened, and he looked at them as if they were a row of fine elk hides. He stepped toward Gigi and lifted her chin.

"Now, now, there, there. I understand that you have...feelings for me. All of you-" he stroked Fifi's and Mimi's cheeks, and they lifted their faces to him- "and I have to say that there will always be room in my...life... for you three. I need you all. Perhaps, we could have a little...rendezvous. Tonight."

The girls' mouths gaped. Gaston took Gigi's hand in his large one. "Come upstairs with me."

His ice blue eyes bored into hers. Fifi and Mimi frowned.

Gaston turned to them. "You will come with me later. Go back home, and you-" he pointed to Fifi in the green dress- "come back here in half an hour. And you, dear-" he pointed to Mimi in the yellow dress- "come back in one hour." He winked, and his eyes blazed lust.

"But-" Mimi started to say.

"No buts. Just do as I tell you, and we will all have a good time. We'll make this a regular thing. I may be getting married, but _look_ at me." The girls gazed up at him, sighing in unison. "_I_ can't be stuck with only one woman the rest of my life," he said in a low tone.

He led Gigi, nervous but delighted, her face as red as her dress, upstairs to the pub's guest room. The room was usually empty, since few travelers came to Molyneux. It had become Gaston's extra apartment more than anything.

Gigi was trembling as he closed the door. It was nearly pitch dark; a torchlight from a neighboring shop illuminated the room slightly through one window. As her eyes adjusted, she saw it was furnished as expected, with extra overflow of antler decor about the walls, bear rugs, and firewood. It was dominated by a large, roughhewn double bed with two foxfurs thrown over it. The foxfurs still included the foxes' heads; their eye sockets were dead and blank. Gigi stared at them with unease. Gaston lit a candle. He threw the foxfurs to the floor.

In one swoop, he grabbed Gigi's shoulders and bent down to her face, planting a sloppy, deep, probing kiss on her mouth. He picked her up roughly and laid her down...

* * *

Fifi and Mimi had experienced the same, later that night. By three in the morning, they couldn't believe what they had done. They each wouldn't admit to the others that the experience was neither romantic nor loving...and quite painful at that- he had shown so tenderness, no feeling. And yet, they continued a similar routine; Mimi would come upstairs with him on Monday night, Fifi on Wednesday night, and Gigi on Saturday night. Or it could be mixed, it wouldn't really matter. He didn't care, but after the third week, they were just delighted that he started using their actual names, rather than just calling each of them "you."

For Mimi, she started to feel discouraged as the long winter drew to a close. She had enjoyed being his mistress at first, but she still had nagging doubts about what it would mean for the future. What if...she was Gaston's mistress for the rest of her life, and she'd have to give up all hope for a husband of her own?

The secret she and her sisters shared with Gaston had unfortunately been passed along- not to their naïve mother thankfully- but to a few of the men in the tavern. He had told them. Mimi was quite unnerved about that- as the men started to give the triplets funny looks. Some of them even leered at them. Others, like Lefou, acted embarrassed for them, and wouldn't look them in the eye.

That was how Mimi had found out; one night she was helping bartend, and she and Lefou happened to be filling mugs from the same tap. She'd asked him a question and he refused to look at her; whereas before, he'd always been clamoring for her and her sisters' attention, rather like a puppy dog. That was in January, but for some reason Lefou stopped working at the tavern in February. Gaston said he'd sent him on a "mission." That mission involved standing in the snow in the DeFleurs' front yard. Odd, but at least Mimi didn't have to deal with his awkward behavior toward them anymore.

At any rate, the sisters' reputation in the town as marriageable young maidens was now spoiled.

Fifi was perfectly happy. She was not so much in love with the idea of marriage, anyway. She didn't mind the carefree life of living with their mother, working at the tavern some nights, and always looking forward to passionate times with Gaston. After all, royal princes and kings had mistresses. She heard about it from the seamstress, who had been to Versailles and Paris from time to time. They would be given all the pretty dresses and jewels they wanted. Now, Gaston was hardly royalty, but in Molyneux, he was a legend in her eyes. Certainly she didn't feel cherished by him, but maybe she could change that. She was patient enough.

Gigi still held up the hope that he would give up his scheme to make Belle marry him. The winter months went on. February came. No Belle. And Gigi continued to passionately give herself to him, sometimes twice a week. Certainly the little book-loving girl couldn't do that for him. She'd always been cool towards him; she saw it with her own eyes. He had to change his mind, and decide to marry Gigi. And eventually, perhaps, he might grow to love her- in a way- and learn to be more physically tender with her. Besides, Gigi had learned to cook.

* * *

"I know he would have married me," Gigi continued to declare.

"Oh, stop it, Gigi. You know how it is. He wasn't going to marry any one of us. He...was kind of using us. Belle was the only one he wanted to marry," said Mimi, in a soft, squeaky voice.

"_Using_ us? We were important to him! We could have been with him forever!" screeched Fifi.

"That's right, Mimi- how can you say such a thing about such a wonderful, great, dreamy-"

CRASH! The shatter of breaking glass came from right outside the Beaudette sisters' cottage home. Screams and shouts were heard. A loud, booming animal sound made the house shake. It sounded like a sheep- but much, much louder.

Mimi, Gigi and Fifi rushed to their window. They screamed at the top of their lungs.

A giant sheep, about ten to twelve feet high, was stomping and crashing through the village main street, breaking everything in its path.


	5. A Baaad Day

Chapter 5- A Baaaaa-d Day

The girls didn't know what to do, other than remain in the house and hide under a table. As it turned out, all of Gilles Moreau's sheep and goats were now grown to twenty times their normal size. One of the goats stuck its head in Monsieur Desjardin's bakery window and gobbled up all of the fresh pastries and baguettes. Andre tried to whack its nose with his rolling pin, but came dangerously close to getting his hand bitten off. Marie put her apron over her face and screamed in terror near the ovens.

Outside in the main street of Molyneux, vegetable and fruit displays were toppled over and the giant creatures were eating to their hearts' content. People ran screaming and yelling, trying to get away from the sheep and goats' stomping, gigantic feet. Doors slammed as people took shelter inside their cottages.

"GILLES, WHAT IN THE HOLY BLAZES HAVE YOU DONE?"

Stanley Moreau, furious and terrified, raced on his stout legs as fast as he could toward his brother's farm, looking for him. He found Gilles at home, sitting in an easy chair, and dragged him out of it.

"Stanley, what's wrong?"

"You don't know what's wrong? I'll show you what is wrong, you clueless idiot! What kind of witch doctor did you buy your sheep feed from?"

"What are you talking about?" Gilles was confused as Stanley dragged him outside and pointed in the direction of the village. In a split second, he saw the backside of an immense sheep and heard the hullabaloo in the village square.

"_Mon Dieu!"_

Gilles' wife, Mathilde, saw it as well, and fainted. Stanley and Gilles worked to pick the heavyset lady up and drag her back inside. They managed to get her into the chair. The children woke up; the one-year-old triplet boys started squalling.

"Mathilde, _cherie_- wake up and keep all the children inside!"

Madame Moreau opened one dazed brown eye and nodded.

The brothers, both short, squat men in their late thirties, rushed as fast as they could back to the village square, chests heaving with the effort.

"We need to slaughter them!" shouted Stanley. "Hey, where is that fool cousin of ours?"

"Which cousin?" The brothers were related to about a third of Molyneux.

"Lefou! We have to find him- he knows where Gaston kept his weapons!"

"That big gun of his, oh, oh…Gaston- I wish he was still alive!" Gilles whimpered in fear. This would have been a job for Gaston, but now all the villagers had to handle this wooly problem on their own.

CRASH! A goat butted someone's upstairs window, breaking it. Two gargantuan sheep were eating Madame Fortier's lovely apple trees.

Gilles and Stanley were joined by Andre the baker as they all pounded on the tavern door. "I saw him go in this morning," said Andre. "He's probably still in there, crying in his beer." The three men wrenched the unlocked door open and looked around.

"Lefou, are you here?"

Stanley spotted him, still passed out on the bear rug on the floor, face down. They flipped him over, and slapped him on the cheeks.

"WAKE UP!"

"Huh…?"

"You have to tell us where Gaston kept his big blunderbuss gun! We are being attacked by giant…_beasts_!" shouted Stanley.

The word 'beast' penetrated itself into Lefou's addled mind and he snapped to attention, sitting up on the floor. He opened his bloodshot brown eyes widely to see nine… or six… or was it just three? men leaning over him.

"We need Gaston's gun to kill all the _beasts_ outside! _You_ need to find that gun, Lefou! _Right now_!"

The short but strong Moreau brothers each grabbed their even shorter cousin's hands and hauled him to a standing position. Andre threw a beer stein full of cold water on Lefou's head, jolting him wide awake. He tried to hide under a table, but the men grabbed him by each arm and they all ran out of the tavern, straight to the de Soleil family home at the edge of town, at near-rocket speed.

Lefou fumbled with the keys and unlocked the door. It was hard to fathom, but this was his house now, according to the will. He rushed past a half-dozen elk mounts to the master bedroom, in which the blunderbuss was displayed proudly on an antler-rack opposite Gaston's late parents' old bed. He jumped up to grab it, missed, jumped again, knocked it out of the gun rack, and caught it as it fell. He then joined the group of men and they nervously went back to the village's main street.

"Oh, gosh- th-those aren't Beasts, they're giant sheep!" Lefou exclaimed, terrified.

One of the cottages' roofs was caved in, as a goat had demolished it. The village square smelled horribly of sheep droppings. Now, only two of the sheep were still in the village square; all of the other giant animals had taken off to the forest in search of more edibles.

One of the two sheep stomped away toward the others in the forest, with a "baaaa" that shook the cottages' windows. The few men who still remained outside- the Moreaus, Lefou, Andre, Jacques, Tom, and Dick- covered their ears at the amplified bleating. Now only one enormous sheep remained; standing still near the fountain, happily drinking it dry.

"Get 'em! Now's your chance!" whispered Stanley to Lefou.

"What…me? I can't shoot it! I never could aim very well; Gaston never let me shoot any-"

"Fine, I'll do it!" Stanley reached to yank the gun out of his hands.

"No- wait…I'll try!" Lefou decided, changing his mind and hugging the blunderbuss. Maybe…just maybe, he could prove to the village that he could be brave. He was the official hunter's assistant for years, after all. He had gone into the dark creepy woods with Gaston often enough, and sometimes, they came closer to large wild creatures than he cared to.

He crept up behind the tremendous sheep, which had its head bent over the fountain, still drinking. A large yellowish fountain sprayed from its back end into the street. Lefou jumped back. "Yeesh…" he said, avoiding the spray.

After the sheep was done relieving itself, Lefou crept up between the animal's back legs. He would have been terrified before, but in his grief stricken state, he didn't really care what happened to him. Besides, physical injury was something that had never fazed him much.

"Oh…don't get too close…" whispered Gilles, trembling and wringing his hands.

_I can get a good aim now_, Lefou thought, standing directly underneath it. He aimed the gun straight up, right at its heart. His own heart was pounding. Suddenly, one of the sheep's massive legs moved, knocking him over.

BOOM!

The gun discharged. The enormous animal flopped to the ground with a thud, dead.

"You did it, Lefou! Uh…oh no, we've got to get him out of there!" said Gilles, worried.

The remaining men gathered around the beastly sheep's carcass. Lefou was pinned underneath. If they didn't get him out, there would be a second death in the village that very week.

"Right there!" shouted Andre.

Two brown shoes were seen sticking out from under the mountain of white wool, right in front of the animal's back leg. The Moreaus grabbed each of Lefou's feet and pulled; while burly Dick, with the help of Andre, Tom, and Jacques- pushed, grunting and groaning, and managed to roll the creature slightly off to one side. Finally, they pulled the small man free.

"Are you all right?" asked Richard-Louis Revelle.

"I'm fine, Dick. Just like always." Lefou replied, slightly dazed and spitting out fluffy white wool. He managed a weak smile. "Thanks, guys."

By then, a crowd of villagers had come out of their homes and gathered around the dead sheep, with the small group of men standing near it. They broke out into a cheer.

"Hey- I know! Here's what we should do!" announced Stanley happily. "Gentlemen, go in my shop and gather all of my carving knives and cleavers. Gilles, get your shearer. We are going to cook this fine kill up and have us a feast tonight!"

"_Hurrah_!" cheered the entire village.

Gilles was probably the happiest of all. The wool from the behemoth would be worth at least five hundred francs. He'd be able to afford not only six eggs for his children, but gourmet omelets at Madame Jauquet's café for a year. And new dresses for Mathilde, or even a new carriage. And from now on, he _would_ contribute to those hungry or less fortunate. He wondered if the old lady he'd seen yesterday was still around.

All through the day the villagers sheared the giant sheep and butchered it into pounds and pounds of meat. All night they held a feast, feeling a little bittersweet that Gaston was not there to laugh his loud guffaw and brag and boast. The man who _did_ slay the animal, Lefou, was modest about the day's events and his part; he was a little quiet and withdrawn, even though his cousins and the rest kept trying to congratulate him. They didn't even mind that he'd consumed all of the tavern's beer that morning, so everyone had to drink milk.

"So, your old man tells me you own the tavern now, is that true?" asked Stanley, at one of the outdoor picnic tables.

"Yeah, it's true. I own all of Gaston's property now, I guess," Lefou said, flatly.

"Well, congratulations! You are one lucky guy. So... when are you going to get some more beer for us? You _are_ going to reopen the tavern soon, right? And replenish all our beer- _right_?"

"Uh-huh," said Lefou, slumping down on the table sleepily. "I've been thinking..."

"Dangerous past-" Stanley started to say.

"No, _really._ I want to do something. Something that I kinda wanted to do that... Gaston never really let me. We could only serve his favorite kind of beer, y'know? And...well, his grandfather kept these old ale recipes in the back cabinet of the tavern. I'm gonna try to make some. It'll be cheaper than traveling to Thionville and Metz all the time to buy beer."

"Good idea," his older cousin remarked, while reaching for another piece of lamb-chop.

"Thanks." Amazingly, Lefou had thought of something other than the agonizing void of grief that day.

Stanley looked concerned again, his brow furrowed. "This whole crazy day with the sheep...do you think it has anything to do with that demon-possessed castle or... the Beast?"

"What do you mean?" asked Lefou. Tom, Dick, and Gilles had joined them at the table, and their ears perked up at the mention of the dreadful castle and the Beast. Gilles' face was turning a pasty color; his hands started to tremble a bit.

"I mean, _how_ do we know whether the Beast is dead or not? He-it... might be still alive out there." Stanley's voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. "And the demonic magic or whatever the blazes you call it that made it cause the furniture and all that stuff to come to _life._.." Stanley unconciously rubbed his still-sore backside which bore second-degree burns- "might still be around- and it has come _here_! And it bewitched your _sheep,_ Gilles!"

Gilles could only let out a squeak; he clutched his fists over his mouth, then quickly made the gesture of the sign of the cross.

Lefou was looking uncomfortable as well. That stab wound on his own backside was still sore, but had numbed greatly from his beer-binge. He shook his head and his eyes started to get misty as he stammered a protest.

"N-no. Gaston killed him. He had to! He was Gaston. He-he was the greatest hun-"

"But _how_ do we know? He plummeted to the ground from a _tower_! The priest heard the details from those guys who brought his body back. My guess is that monster pushed him off!" boomed Stanley. A few people in the picnic table nearest them started to turn and stare at them. He went back to an angry whisper.

"There is no proof that it's dead. Lefou, you need proof and I propose we go back to that castle and search for its body."

"Stanley's right," agreed Dick, nibbling meat from an enormous bone. "We need closure. We need to know whether or not Gaston succeeded."

Lefou sighed and blinked his misty eyes quickly to gain composure. "Guys...we should. I wanna know, too. More than anything, because then we can honor...hey, if you guys can find its body, we could get its head and we could hang it up in the tavern as a trophy. It will always be there...to remember the last great victory of Gaston."

"Hear, hear," agreed both Tom and Dick, solemnly.

"Let's do it tomorrow." said Stanley. "Who's in?"

"I can't, guys. I need to get the tavern back in business and I'm gonna go buy some hops to brew ale. Sorry," said Lefou in a depressed, breaking voice. He put his head down on the table, hiding his face in his sleeves.

"Well the rest of us are going. Gilles- you too. No excuses. And I'll ask Andre and Jacques too."

Gilles gulped.

The sun was setting, and a biting chill- the death throes of winter as spring defeated it every March- settled into the air as the men each rose from the table and headed home. Lefou was the last to leave. When spring finally arrives in its full bloom, he thought, it will be especially hard to take. After autumn, spring was Gaston's second favorite hunting season.


	6. The Enchantress, and a Mystery

Chapter 6- The Enchantress, and a Mystery

On the same evening, the Enchantress Delphine had transported herself to her opulent family home, and stood before her father, the Enchanter Quentin Dufresne. The old man, dressed in a long, emerald silk robe adorned with a golden _fleur de lis_ pattern, held a Magic Mirror in his hands and scowled at it in irritation.

"What is the meaning of this?" he exclaimed, trying to contain his rage. He turned the Mirror around so his daughter could see.

The Magic Mirror replayed images of giant livestock stomping through a small village populated by mortal peasants. The image changed to an updated view, of the said villagers enjoying a feast of roasted lamb and celebrating.

"Delphine, you have made a mockery of the Dufresne dynasty of Enchanted sorcerers! What do you think you were doing there, of all Merlin-forsaken places? And you _blessed_ the vermin mortals- you didn't curse them!" His pale old eyes burned into those of his beautiful daughter.

"I was trying to improve my yearly quota of curses, Father. I found a mortal who needed to be taught a lesson, so I cursed his animals. I performed the Shrinking Spell on them, but I then found it quite ineffective and petty. So therefore, I tried to create a greater impact by changing it to the Enlarging Spell. It made more damage that way. I… I didn't know it would backfire. I'm sorry, Father." Delphine bowed her head in reverence, her long golden hair falling around her exquisite face.

"You need to think before you act. Those mortals can be shrewd. Without our magic, they use their minds to invent and use weapons and objects that aid their lives. If their population is not controlled, they will evolve to be more clever than us, they will have advantages, our magical Race will die out, and be no more! Now, I think that this-" he gestured to the Mirror- "was a foolish waste of time, and I want you to concentrate on more important victims from now on. I want you to keep following our Prince Adam."

"Prince Adam? He broke the curse according to its laws. A maiden fell in love with him, before his twenty first birthday. He earned the right to be left alone from now on…"

"SILENCE!" boomed Quentin Dufresne. His daughter lowered her head again.

Monsieur Dufresne took the Magic Mirror in his hands gently and looked at it wistfully.

"The Beast. _Your_ Beast. I was so proud of your achievement and I gazed upon him every day in this Mirror. I no longer see him. I miss him, Delphine. I want the Beast back."

Delphine was ashamed. "Again, I am sorry, Father. But he succeeded and-"

"_Show me Prince Adam_!" the dark Enchanter shouted.

The Mirror glowed. Delphine and her father gazed upon the moving images that played upon its surface in real time. Adam appeared, and he was embracing his ladylove, Belle, who looked up at him with pure love in her eyes. Adam was pulling out something from the pocket of his fine blue and gold coat...

* * *

"Adam, how did you ever-" exclaimed Belle. He had produced a beautiful ring, set with enormous diamonds.

"It was my mother's, darling. My father gave it to her, and his father before that. It bears the crest of the House of Rohan, the noble family which I am a part of. Not that I really _care_ much about that anymore." Adam gave her a boyish grin.

"Belle…will you marry me?" He held the ring toward her finger, and gently slipped it on, nervously.

Belle's face lit up in a huge smile. "Adam, I'm…speechless!"

"Yes, or no?"

"Yes, Adam! Yes, a thousand times, yes!" Belle threw her arms around her true love, and they embraced again, this time with a lingering kiss. Adam's lips opened slightly, and the kiss was much deeper and more passionate than any time they had kissed before. Belle felt her knees weaken, and her cheeks burned rose-red.

"_Oui, oui_!" Lumiere's shout was heard from upstairs on the landing near the West Wing. Adam and Belle looked up to see Lumiere and Cogsworth, Lumiere raising a fist in the air with delight, and Cogsworth looking sheepish. They had been spying.

"We are getting married, everyone!" Adam announced, joyfully.

* * *

Quentin Dufresne's face was stern as the mirror glowed and the moving image evaporated.

"He learned his lesson, Father. I despise seeing the _sans-magiques _prevail as much as you do, but I feel I should move on and leave them be-"

"NO!" yelled Dufresne. "They are lowly mortals! Royalty or not, they are beneath us, and they shall not ever be allowed to prosper and vanquish the Enchanted Race of magically-blessed humans! If it weren't for Le Grande Merlin-" he sneered at the mention of the leader of all Enchanteds- "I would order each and every mortal in the world to be wiped off the face of this earth!"

Delphine thought of the advantages of a world populated only by magicals. Freedom, no need for secrecy, her family as well as other Enchanteds able to come out of hiding and conquer the wealth and land of the majority of the world. A new utopia...

"Go back to the area of Prince Adam's castle, and keep trying to watch over him. The minute he makes a curseworthy error, turn him back into the Beast. An addition, you must earn one hundred Curse-Points, whatever you can do to mortals you encounter. Just make certain nothing backfires! I will be observing you from time to time, with the Mirror. If you do not do such within this year of 1770, I shall curse you myself to remain forever in your disguise as a wretched, bone-thin hag and your Monsieur Lamont will not bear to touch you again! Unless, of course, he is one of those rare noble souls who believes that 'beauty is found within.' But I doubt that. Have I made myself heard?"

"Yes."

The threat of remaining an old ugly hag for the rest of her life and losing her longtime lover, the rogue Enchanter Lamont, was enough for her to give up her ethical reservations and vow to do evil from now on, at her father's command.

"And when you do return to the area of the castle and that _charming_ little village you like to waste time in, beware of the presence of Fabien LaBarre and his sons. They have been alerted to the area as a result of your foolishness today. If you see any wolves, expect them to be the LaBarres in their characteristic disguises."

"But you always said that Fabien LaBarre was a bumbling fool."

"Yes, I have. A bumbling fool indeed. But the area of the Prince's castle is surrounded by forests and mountains. The ability of the LaBarre family to transform into wolves is a great and rare Enchanted gift and to their complete advantage. And from what I have heard, the two sons are emerging as talented Sorcerors of the Pro-Mortal faction's Law Enforcement. Do not underestimate them."

"Yes, Father. You have my complete obedience from now on."

Delphine looked up at her father as if he were a military commander, rather than her own parent. There had been no real love between them; her father was evil and cold as a winter's night. She herself felt bitterness and hatred grow toward the mortal humans as well, and Prince Adam, who had overcome her elaborate feat of magic, most of all.

* * *

Back in the village the next morning, Gilles Moreau stepped out of his cottage, looked into his livestock pen, and found all of his remaining sheep and three goats, back home and safe and sound. They were back to their normal size.

Gilles looked up and was certain he saw three large grey wolves near the border of the forest, at the end of the meadow. Their eyes glowed blue for a split second, then they turned and disappeared into the trees.

He decided he'd have to invest in a blunderbuss quite soon...

His thoughts were interrupted by his brother, who was heading up the path to his farm. Stanley carried a sack over his back which held a collection of knives, cleavers, and various other tools. Gilles' heart thumped out of his chest. He'd really hoped Stanley had decided to sleep in and give up on his crazy plan from the evening before.

"You ready?"

"Well, I guess so."

They went to the village square and soon found Dick and Andre. They also bore rucksacks filled with tools and supplies.

"Is Tom or Jacques coming?" asked Stanley.

"_Non_," replied Dick. "Tom's under the weather, he says. And Jauquet is tending the cheese shop. Fine with me, they'll slow us down."

"Okay, guess it's just the four of us. Let's take my wagon."

The four village men climbed into Stanley's wagon and headed out to the path that led through the forest, across a river, and finally uphill toward the castle in the mountainous highlands. Stanley's horse was in poor condition; he was not used to being exercised much, so the trip took over an hour before they could finally see the graceful spires of the palace peeking up over the treeline.

"There it is! Oh, _Mon Dieu_, I don't know about this!" Gilles said in a quivering voice.

"Oh stop blathering and be brave, Gilles. Now let's think- what do we remember about the castle, and which way did Gaston go when we first arrived? I think I remember he went to the west side, so if he killed the monster there, we'd have to look on... _that_ side," reasoned Stanley, pointing and tying to strategically plan. "So let's circle around this clearing."

"But what if the Beast was buried already?" asked Andre.

"Who would have buried that thing? The demon-possessed candlestick? The knife-throwing stove? I don't _think_ so! And I don't think it had many friends. Common sense." Stanley tapped a finger to the side of his head.

It was quite clear to the other men that Stanley was hoping to insert himself into the power vaccum left by Gaston's demise. What he lacked in physical stature, he made up for in grit and shrewdness.

They drove the wagon with the exhausted horse on the most level path, avoiding the main gate so as not to be seen. Steep rocky cliffs were on part of the west side of the castle, which made it impossible to go further. They climbed out of the wagon, Stanley gave his horse some water, and they began to hike on foot.

"Well, it's been five days. I'd say if there is a dead, monstrous Beast carcass on these grounds, we'd best follow our noses," offered Dick. Gilles and Andre nodded in agreement. They spread out and begin sniffing the air.

"WHO GOES THERE!"

Stanley, Andre, Gilles and Dick were startled to see four men, wielding muskets and crossbows.

"Hi, fellows!" greeted Gilles, waving. Stanley glared at him. The four guards came closer. Gilles adopted a friendly, casual stance. "We're from over in Molyneux. The village? Not too far from here. We are just hunting!"

"Yep, hunting," agreed Stanley. Andre and Dick nodded along.

"You must _leave_ at once!" commanded Yann-Yves Noire, the captain of Adam's royal guard. "This is private property. Go back to your village." The stout bearded guard raised his musket, as did Jean Goulet, his leaner colleague. Noel and Luc Saggitaire, the younger, blond guards, raised their crossbows.

The four had no choice but to turn back around, get back into the wagon, and head away from the castle.

The guards watched them leave. "It is definitely men from the village. I don't trust them if it had anything to do with that dead man we found," said Yann to the other three.

The men from the village had different reactions to the curtailing of their adventure. "Well, wasn't _that_ exciting," huffed Stanley, as they drove back in the same way they had come.

"We can still use our noses and sniff for it!" Gilles piped up, a little more cheerful then he'd been earlier. "Maybe the Beast was chased off by Gaston and he killed 'em right here in these woods!" Gilles stood up and started sniffing the air. Stanley grabbed his coat and pulled him back down. "_Shuddup_!" he grumped.

"Quiet- I see some couple walking over there in the distance!" said Andre, pointing. The men squinted back toward the area of the castle grounds behind them. They spotted a couple walking closely side by side, a tall man with long, fair hair dressed in a very fine blue and gold coat, and a young woman with long brown hair and a red cape over her blue dress.

"The girl looks familiar- but they are too far away to tell," noted Andre. "It almost looks like the DeFleur girl! Belle- the one who started all of the Beast business."

"So who's that she is with? It's not her hairy Beast friend- it looks like some high-born stuffed shirt!" exclaimed Dick.

"Poor Gaston. I should have known she was holding out for a rich guy," said Andre the baker. "Always in a dream world with those books of hers about castles. It figures, she got her wish. I wonder who that is?"

"It's the Marquis de Creeps, if that's his castle," piped up Gilles. "Maybe the monster was his idea of a pet. Belle is his new paramour, and he saw her in our village, lusted after her, and sent his pet Beast to kidnap her and take her to him."

"That's crazy, but so is everything else about this. But why did she become friends with it? 'Kind and gentle,' remember? Wait- it was controlling her mind! It controlled all that furniture and candles- it could also force her to worship it!" Stanley exclaimed, grasping for answers. "Not only her, but her fancy friend there, those guards, servants, they are all under the power of the demon Beast, and the castle belongs to it now. I should have had Pere Gerard come with us, but I doubt he nor the Pope can do exorcisms like this!"

"No doubt it is still guarded by a hundred demons inside candlesticks and bureau drawers," said Dick. "Just can't explain it. It's either alive, or it's dead," he said, shrugging.

"You're a genius as always, _mon ami_," chuckled Stanley. "Well, I sure hope Gaston killed it, because then maybe he set that 'lost prince' people used to talk about free. And maybe all the demonic stuff is gone now, because Gaston got rid of it! That is what I _hope_- and what I want to tell that sad-sack little cousin of ours, Gilles. We all miss Gaston, but _mon dieu_- he was Little Iggy's whole reason for living...the kid's hurting, and I kinda owe it to him. He's Auntie Jeanne's boy, after all." Stanley looked sad, as did the others. He halted his horse.

"Let's just keep going slow. Look around, and keep smelling for it. It's worth a try, we've come this far." The men quieted and drove the wagon through the shady, cool forest path, surrounded by tall evergreens.

Gilles leaned to one side of the wagon and peered optimistically into the woods.

"Hey! It's that lady!"

"What lady? What's a lady doing in the middle of the woods?"

"I just saw a little old lady walking through the trees. I swear I did! She looks just like some old lady I saw last week, on the night after the funeral. Hey! Madame! Hey, lady! You can have my sheep if you want! You can even have ten francs if you- ouch!" Stanley cuffed Gilles on the side of the head.

"_Shut up_! What are you going on about? There is no old woman-" Stanley squinted, and then was startled by something.

"AAAAAGH!"

The men screamed in horror. Three enormous grey wolves bounded out of the forest from the opposite side of where Gilles had been looking, and charged the wagon from all sides, bearing their sharp fangs.

The horse reared and whinnied in fright. The wagon tipped, and the terrified men were thrown to the ground. The horse galloped away, bumping the crude wagon behind it. The wolves ran in a circle around the men, who cowered in terror.


	7. Enchanted Strife, and Belle Returns

Chapter 7- Enchanted Strife, and Belle Returns

The four men sat motionless with terror as the wolves growled. After a few moments, the wolves did a curious thing; they lined up in a neat row on the path, opening up the way home for the men. They continued to growl threateningly, yet did not attempt to pounce. Their eyes glowed an eerie, florescent blue.

Gilles, Stanley, Andre, and Dick picked themselves off the ground and ran as fast as they possibly could toward the village. Dick, the tallest, disappeared off into the distance, Stanley somewhat farther behind, while the less-in-shape Andre and Gilles struggled to catch up, hands clutching their chests. Gilles thought he just might die today.

They managed to survive, and later found themselves in the tavern. When they first lumbered in, white-faced with fear and exhaustion, their noses picked up something delicious, a new type of beverage. Lefou came out of the back room after he heard the fellows collapse in the smaller chairs around a table. None of them wanted to sit in the huge, cozy furry chair near the fireplace, for fear of upsetting the new tavern keeper. No one but Gaston had ever sat on that chair.

"What happened, guys?" He was coatless, wearing a bartender's apron and holding a bag of barley.

Gilles was white as a sheet, and his teeth clattered. "Y-Y-you d-don't want to go back there."

"No luck, Lefou," said Stanley. "I don't think we will ever know what became of the Beast. We were driven away. Wolves. If there was a body, those creepy wolves probably...ate it." Even he looked frightened.

Lefou took some tankards of cold water and set them on the men's table. He looked wistfully up at the portrait over the fireplace, thinking about what an honor it would be to display the trophy of the great Beast and the legend of the famous Gaston de Soleil to all who came, near and far. The spot he'd wished for it to be placed was still empty.

"What's that cooking? It smells delicious," asked Andre, trying to change the subject.

"It's mild ale," answered Lefou, unenthusiastic and still depressed. "It's warmed up and it has to distill. It won't be ready to drink for a few days. Sorry. Only water for now. I'm going to sleep, good night," Lefou said in a choked voice. He headed up the stairs to Gaston's old room, tired and on the verge of tears just as they'd seen him every single day since that horrible night.

"Let's go home, Marie's probably wondering what went on today," said Andre.

"Yes, Mathilde and the kids are for sure," said Gilles, and the frazzled foursome took their leave, anxious for the safety of their homes.

* * *

Delphine went back to her home town, the secret Enchanted village of Cachette pour Sorcière, located up in the highest snowy peaks of the Aravis mountain range. She headed straight toward the fine manor home of Olivier Lamont, the man she had been madly in love with for nearly ten years. He was the son of one of the wealthiest Enchanters, an associate of her father. Lamont was a charming man, though secretive and quirky, often taking long trips away. Since Delphine was always strong and independent, not needing him constantly, they made a fine pair.

She rang the bell of the ornate, stained-glass door, set with a glimmering doorknob of pure ruby. It opened, revealing a tall, thin man with a dark complexion and a black goatee. Delphine smiled, happy to see him after almost a year. He frowned.

"Delphine, I am glad you came. We need to talk."

"What is the problem, darling?" She put her arms up to embrace him, but he turned away. "Sit down, please." He gestured to a plush chair, and sat down on the other end of the large room. She remained standing.

"I have decided to leave here. And...I need to let you go, Delphine. I love someone else."

"But, Olivier, I.." Hurt and anger boiled up inside her. "Who? Who could you love more after all these years?"

Lamont sighed with difficulty. "Her name is Aurore, and I met her on my travels. She is...a mortal." Delphine gasped. "I am moving to Paris with her. I am going to live the rest of my life as a mortal, since I am not a true Enchanter. I have never performed my own magic."

"You can do magic. What are you _talking_ about?" Delphine said, her voice rising to the level of a screech. But then, in all the years of her on and off relationship with Olivier Lamont, she had never actually _seen_ him do a spell of wand magic on his own. They had been either in large social groups, or alone together in which she had always done spells, never noticing his passivity. She always wondered why he traveled by horse and stagecoach, and did little things the 'hard' way. The horrible realization dawned on her.

"You are of _mortal_ blood?"

"My parents stole me from mortals when they could have no child of their own. It is a family secret. Has it ever occurred to you why you never saw me in magical school when we were young, even though we are close in age? I have been able to hide behind my family name, my social circles. You have been deceived by appearances."

"You _lied_ to me! You are one of those nasty... No! Show me your wand. Cast a spell."

Lamont pulled a wand from his umber-brown frock coat. "Father bought this for himself as an extra for him but gave it to me to carry. Sometimes, at parties, he would silently think the incantation, pointing his own wand under his coat, while I pretended to use it just to keep the public from-"

"Olivier, cast a spell! Any spell. Levitate a chair!" Delphine demanded.

He pointed his wand at the high stained-glass window._ "Fracasser!" _he shouted. Delphine winced a moment, but nothing happened. The window did not shatter. She looked at Lamont's face, and he was smiling gently.

"So you are proud of this! You enjoy being useless and having the blood of a lowly..."

"Stop it, Delphine! I no longer hate mortals, now that I have realized my heritage. In fact, it is better than before, when I believed I was just a defective Enchanter. I have overcome my prejudices. Aurore makes me feel valued, and so I must go."

"How dare you!" She glared at him in contempt.

"You are a powerful sorceress, and I am not. We do not belong together, Delphine. I wish you well." He looked happy and content, finally at peace with himself.

The Enchantress gave him an icy cold look and stormed out of Olivier Lamont's fine mountaintop manor. She pointed her wand at the ornate stained glass windows, and they burst and shattered, spilling glass over the snowy ground. She disappeared away, in a blind rage.

* * *

The three wolves in the forest near Prince Adam's castle faded in a mist of glowing electric blue. The mist shifted and reformed until in a matter of seconds, they had resumed their natural forms of men.

"I hope we didn't frighten those men to death, Father," said Bastien LaBarre, a tall and fine-featured Enchanter with long brown hair pulled back in an elegant ribbon, dressed in pale blue just as his father and brother.

"I do not believe so, but better they are frightened than encounter Delphine again," replied his father Fabien. "Unfortunately for us, she has now left. I was hoping we could stop her before she reappears near the Prince's castle." A few weeks before, when Adam's curse was broken and Delphine showed up in the village, she was tracked by Le Grande Merlin's Mortal Protection agents, and Fabien and his sons were sent to investigate.

"Do you think she could ever become a benevolent Enchantress? Perhaps she will tire of cursing mortals?" asked the younger of the two sons, Benoit.

"Do not be naive, Benoit," answered Bastien. "She may have had a chance to be on our side years ago, but this is Quentin Dufresne's daughter we are talking of, the darkest Enchanter in generations. I doubt after feeling the power of dark curses, especially a curse as terrible as _Homme-Bête, _she would only wish to turn stones to gems from now on."

_"My ears have been buzzing dreadfully, I believe someone has been talking about me?"_

The singsong woman's voice was sharp and loud, coming from behind the LaBarre men. They turned around and pulled out their magic wands as fast as possible. The very same moment, Delphine, as her true beautiful self in her signature green gown, swished her wand about like a whip in their direction.

_"Lapin!_" she shouted.

Delphine's typically solemn face crinkled with amusement, and she couldn't help but smile at what she had done to Fabien, Bastien and Benoit LaBarre.

"You three are nothing but fools for helping protect mortals. My father has been right all along! Can't you see how much more power we could have if we can control them? You are weak, like little rabbits. Perhaps you can think about how to truly help the Enchanted Race when you turn human again," Delphine said gently to them, her pale eyes wide and showing signs of growing quite unhinged.

"_Adieu_, gentlemen. There is a patch of clover in the meadow not far from here. _Bon appetit!_" she said sweetly to them as she disappeared in a gentle white glow.

* * *

Ever since the happy announcement of the official engagement of Belle and Adam, the palace was full of busy bustling and joyful planning. Belle and Maurice realized, about a week after the transformation, that they needed to go back to their cottage in the village to recover their belongings in order to settle in the castle permanently, as members of Adam's family.

One morning, they sat on the buckboard of a boxy supply wagon while one of the horse grooms hitched up Phillipe and another sturdy Shire, a mare that Michel, the young stable groom, had named Antoinette. She was of a tan and cream color, and she and Phillipe were nuzzling each other and nickering softly as Michel fastened their hitching.

"I think there might be another love match among the horses, Mistress Belle... Your Majesty, I need to call you now," Michel said to Belle, grinning. The stable boy was especially happy to be freed of Delphine's curse. He had been a water bucket for the last decade. In his human form, he was a small, slightly-built young man with long brown hair, a wispy mustache, and dimples. All of the young maids on staff had an eye on him.

"Please, just call me Belle. I don't think I can ever get used to 'Your Majesty!'" Belle said shyly as she covered her head with the fur-trimmed hood of her red winter shawl. It was that dreary, blustery time of year where it wasn't really winter anymore, but not quite spring either.

She was overwhelmed at all that had transpired- first the transformation, then Adam's proposal. They decided that the wedding would be set for the first Sunday of April. Adam wanted it to be as soon as possible, practically the very next day after his transformation, but Belle felt she wanted to have at least a short time for a courting period, and some of the servants wanted time to put on as grand a wedding as they could.

Maurice shook the reins, and drove the wagon down the valley, over a wide bridge over the now-thawed river, and through a shady wooded path on their way to the village.

A rustling sound caught Belle's attention. "What do you think that is, Papa?"

"Don't worry, Belle. Probably a deer or a rabbit. There may be wolves about, but this wagon is sturdy. They won't hurt us." He gazed calmly at the path ahead. Belle looked into the forest and felt relieved, as she caught a glimpse of rabbits hopping in the underbrush.

They reached the village. Everything was the same as before, but Belle had the feeling that this was not her home anymore. She and her father belonged in the castle now, with Adam and his friendly household of servants. As Phillipe and Antoinette pulled their wagon along the main street, people glanced at them as they passed through, and then looked away. She could sense the unfriendliness.

Two middle aged men, one fair-haired with only one tooth in his mouth, the other ruddy-faced and burly, stared at Belle and looked at each other, whispering. Belle turned from them and tried to look ahead, to the little stream and bridge that led to their cottage.

She tried not to feel hurt or rejected, but it still bothered her. _Why should it matter now_, she thought. _They're just_ _simple, little, provincial people_. Before, she hadn't related to them well for her being "odd" and wanting to read and talk of fairytales rather than practical conversation. Now, the negativity she sensed was because _she_ was the reason behind the events of Gaston's death. Yet, there was no way on earth they could understand the truth or know the secret behind the Beast.

They passed the shops and homes of the village and crossed a little bridge. The cottage appeared before them- a quaint house with a spinning windmill and a thatched roof. The farm animals were gone; the goats and chickens were taken by one of the farmers for himself. Maurice didn't care; it could have been considered thievery but he didn't want to press the matter. He had no need for the livestock anymore.

They entered the cottage, and took about an hour or so loading their favorite items- only a few pieces of furniture, keepsakes, and clothing into the wagon. One of the first things that caught Belle's eye was the painting of her mother.

Hélene DeFleur had died at about the age of forty, of a fever. She resembled Belle, with her heart-shaped face, long brown hair and amber-brown eyes. Belle took the portrait down and held it, looking at the face of her mother. Her memories of her were distant; but the most vivid were her reading of fairytales to her, as well as their walks in the parks in the city where they had lived when Belle was a small child. They had moved several times, as Maurice had gone to attend several schools, studying science and physics. Financial difficulties caused him to suspend his studies, and he worked as a carpenter from then on. His talent in building as well as science was what led him to his dream of becoming an inventor.

Maurice came up next to his daughter, putting his arm around her as they looked at the painting in loving memory.

"Can you imagine- what she would think of this?" said Maurice. "She always called me her 'Prince Charming'…always loved her fairytales of castles. I was so lucky to have been her husband…those ten short years," Maurice said sadly, his eyes downcast in remembrance.

"I believe Maman is happy where she is now, and if you wish to move on, it will be all right," said Belle softly.

Belle looked her father directly in the eyes. A little blush came over Maurice's face. Belle knew that her father, in the last several days, was spending nearly every waking moment in the castle talking and laughing with Emmeline Potts. She hoped that the little friendship they had formed would grow into something more; Maurice was sixty, and he deserved a new, special someone to live out the remainder of his life with.

"Thank you, Belle," he told her gently, tears coming to his eyes. The father and daughter embraced each other in the still, quiet house; in which they would put up for sale and no longer return to.

Shortly after, they drove the wagon past the village square. Belle and Maurice felt rather hungry, so they decided to stop into the bakery, where they had always enjoyed the pastries and baguettes. They entered, and to their relief found it relatively empty of people, save Marie Desjardins, the baker's wife. She was a short, plump little woman with fair features, wearing a flour-dusted dress and apron, a ruffled white cap on her head. She smiled brightly at Belle and Maurice.

"Belle! Maurice! You are back, I cannot believe it!" she gushed. Of all in the village, the two people who Belle could expect to be kind to her now were Madame Desjardins and the bookseller, Monsieur Libre. Belle felt a little more relaxed and safe. Maurice took some franc-pieces out of his pocket and ordered some baguettes and cherry patisseries.

"Would you care for a slice of lamb and vegetable pie as well?" Marie offered. "We have such a surplus of lamb recently... no particular _reason_ at all, I- I mean..." she stammered. Maurice, happily digging into the pie, paid no heed to her nervousness.

Marie decided to change the subject. Her face expressed concern, and a little curiosity. "I know this is none of my business, but I am _so glad_ to see you both are here, and safe. I mean…you know, I was curious and all about what happened with…well…"

She was trying not to come out and say it, but it was obvious she wanted the full scoop on the mystery of the Beast.

"He's dead, Madame."

Belle's frank and direct reply took Madame Desjardins by surprise. She looked shocked for a moment.

"The Beast is dead. He was killed that night…he is no longer a worry or a threat." It was true, in a way. Physically, there was no longer an eight-foot-tall, horned furry creature in existence, Belle rationalized. Maurice froze from forking a bite of pie in his mouth and, after a moment of consideration, he nodded.

The two of them did not notice that Andre had suddenly entered the shop behind them. He looked as shocked as his wife to see them back in town again.

"What did you say?" he inquired in curiosity, as he carried an empty tray to the counter and proceeded to fill it with loaves.

"It has been a pleasure, Madame, but we must go now," said Maurice, looking uncomfortable. He took the bag of snacks and proceeded out the door. The last time he had seen the baker, he was laughing the loudest in a crowd of mockers, wishing for Maurice to be sent to the Maison de Lunes.

Belle paused. She knew that Madame Desjardins liked friendly gossip and telling the whole town things she heard, so she saw an opportunity to introduce the village to the Adam she knew and loved.

"The castle is a safe place now," she blurted out. "I am going to live there- because- I am marrying into the royal family."

Marie looked confused. "Royal family- why, that castle has been abandoned for years! Do you mean that the young prince is back?"

"Yes," answered Belle, growing more self-assured. "I am getting married. To Prince Adam. He is the son of Prince Alexandre, who used to rule this principality until he and Adam's mother passed away. Adam has returned to the castle- he is grown now. He is very nice." Belle stated, her happiness and the glow on her face confirming the fact to the woman.

"Our wedding is next month. And we will be happy to invite all of you, the whole village, if you wish," added Belle.

"Have a pleasant day, Madame. Monsieur," Belle nodded cheerily to the couple. She followed her father out the door. Andre and Marie looked at each other with their mouths agape.

"She really is a funny girl," Marie finally said. "But this is so exciting! Andre- do you realize what this might mean for our business? A royal wedding!" She happily went to a cupboard and pulled a book down with drawings of formal cakes and dainty banquet refreshments.

"You're getting a little ahead of yourself, Marie!" Andre said, a bit resentful. He took his tray of bread out of the bakery, grumpily. He had been right about that flighty, uppity girl. _Poor Gaston_, he thought as he placed the bread on the rolling cart. _So she said the Beast is dead_- that was one good thing. He wanted to tell the other men.

But then, he was unsure. That girl could _still_ be under some kind of demonic influence. Maybe...when she looked at the Beast, she saw a handsome Prince instead? But he had seen the Prince himself! It was still too strange for him to fathom. And shouldn't that girl be more appreciative of Gaston? Why, he may have lost his _life_ rescuing that prince! Andre and his friends had seen the two the other day, walking hand in hand, while poor Gaston lay in his grave for ever...

As customers came to buy bread from Andre the baker, they wondered why he seemed so quiet and lost in his thoughts that day.

Meanwhile, in the main street, Maurice took a few moments to water the horses, while Belle waited, self-consciously, in front of the bakery. She watched Philippe and Antoinette drink, and when she glanced to the side, her heart sunk. She did not care to deal with who was just walking down the street, approaching her directly.

"_You're back?_"

"How _dare_ you show your face here!"

"Gaston is dead because of _you_! You always looked down on him, you little snob!"

The high-pitched voices and the red, yellow and green dresses were unmistakable. Belle felt a sinking in the pit of her stomach.

* * *

_A.N. - Translations for the French magic spells- "Homme-Bête"- Man-Beast. "Lapin"- Rabbit. "Fracasser"- shatter. The name of Delphine's mountain village means "hideout for sorcerors." Hopefully the translator worked well. Sorry for the wait, this chapter and the next drove me nuts, trying to redo, add on and get the plot to keep going. Thanks Trudi for previewing. -Civilwarrose_


	8. Hard Feelings

Chapter 8- Hard Feelings

Belle awkwardly searched for words as Gigi, Mimi and Fifi stood in front of her. She lifted her chin after a moment, taking a deep breath. She might as well get it over with. They had been so fond of the man, if not infatuated, and Belle felt pained sympathy for them. Before, in the village, she had so often wished Gaston had chosen one of them and left her alone. _If only he had_. Guilt over their words was ripping at her heart.

"I am truly sorry...about Gaston," she said, in a shaky voice. She had never wanted anyone to die. The girls had no idea what had transpired that night. She searched for the right words to say, while the triplets glared at her, their arms folded in front of their chests.

"I am sorry that it happened. He didn't deserve to die. Please believe me when I tell you it was an accident. He fell. He was trying to climb-" Belle averted her gaze as she visually recalled that horrible stormy night- "but he fell. It was all a horrible mistake. It's still hard for me to believe." she added softly, her eyes meeting the girls' in a sincere gaze.

The sisters continued to glare at her. "Well, _we_ can't believe you could be friends with a hairy monster and lure Gaston to _chase_ after it!" accused Gigi.

"You're crazy!" shrieked Mimi.

"Go back to your haunted castle and... hug your _monster_ if it's still alive!" spat Fifi.

Belle looked aside and saw her father with the horses, looking at her in concern. "I have to go now," she said assertively, and turned to walk away.

She hadn't gone two steps when a woman in a wide-brimmed hat rushed up to her.

"Belle! What delightful news! You are going to marry a Prince, I hear? Marie just told me! This is the most exciting thing that has happened in our town in _years_!" gushed Madame Fortier, the town seamstress.

"What? What prince?" exclaimed Mimi. The triplets were standing within earshot.

"Belle is marrying a _prince_ now?" screeched Fifi.

"Well that just proves, he was never _good_ enough for her!" said Gigi to her sisters. They gave Belle a look of pure hatred, and flounced away, down the street. The older woman noticed Belle's hurt expression.

"Never mind the girls, _mademoiselle_, they are still having a hard time of it," said Mme. Fortier. A gust of chilly wind came up, and the older woman quickly held on to her wide-brimmed hat. She always wore hats or wigs; an illness she'd had years before had caused her to lose most of her hair. She was one of the more cultured ladies in town, and a bit of an artist, so she tried her best to look dignified and proper.

Maurice came up to them, a hammer and nails in his hands. "Belle-" he started to say.

"Good afternoon, Monsieur DeFleur! It is good to see you again. And congratulations are in order! Would you mind if I steal your daughter away for just one minute?" greeted Madame Fortier.

"That would be all right. Belle- I was about to get us on our way, but that boneheaded front wheel of the wagon broke! I'll have to fix it, don't worry, it'll be done in a jiffy. You ladies can visit a minute."

Maurice nodded in greeting at Madame Fortier, and turned back to the wagon. The town residents weren't _all_ being hostile. He supposed the women could visit for a moment or so.

Mme. Fortier led Belle into the tailors' shop, next to the bakery. She and her husband, a tailor for men's clothing, were a busy couple. Excitedly, she showed Belle her own sketches of the noblewomen's' gowns she'd drawn from paintings she'd seen in the big cities.

"I would like to help you create your wedding gown, if you'd let me," she offered.

"That would be very nice… thank you," said Belle. Adam had two tailors on staff; Yves and Georges, they were named. The poor old men had spent the last decade as a spool and a coat hanger. They were frail now, probably the oldest on staff. Belle thought they should be allowed to rest after their long lives of sewing for Adam's family in the past.

"What do you think of this one? Isn't it elegant?" Mme. Fortier held out a drawing of a very wide-skirted, stiff gown, over-bustled and crinolined. The sleeves consisted of about twenty layers of ruffles. Belle wrinkled her nose.

"No, thank you. It's too much for me. Something simpler would be fine."

Mdme. Fortier showed her five or six other sketches. Finally, one stood out to Belle. It reminded her very much of the magnificent yellow gown that she had worn, twice, at the castle. It had a very full skirt, but flowing rather than stiff, a sweetheart neckline with a dainty bow at the front, and sheer, gossamer sleeves. "I like this the best," she indicated.

"Ah, the gown worn by Duchess Marie-Louise of the House of Bourbon. Except, it will be _much_ prettier on you than on her. I shall do my best, whatever pleases our royal bride," said the seamstress.

Belle allowed herself to feel a little giddy enthusiasm, recalling that evening in the ballroom with Beast, and imagining a similar, future day where she would be dancing in the arms of Adam, as his wife. She smiled at the thought. She also had an idea, to save Mme. Fortier some bother about the dress.

"Perhaps I shall send the Prince's servant, a Madame de la Grande Bouche, into town soon, and she will bring my yellow gown to you. It looks like this one, except the sleeves are short. But it is a perfect fit, and you may use it as a pattern, if you wish, for a white wedding gown."

Recalling that evening, she had been shy to try on Adam's late mother's yellow gown at first, but felt like the most elegant lady in the world once Madame de la Grande Bouche had convinced her to don it that night. If Mme. Fortier could use the yellow gown, then Belle would be relieved of the need to keep going to the village for measurements.

"_Magnifique_! I will be happy to do so, Belle dear. It will make my job much easier. When is the happy day, may I ask?"

"The first Sunday in April."

"Why, that is only a few weeks! Do have the ladyservant bring the gown to me soon, and I shall work as hard as I can!" said Madame Fortier happily.

"I promise I will. I must get back now. Adieu, Madame, and thank you so much!"

"Adieu!" exclaimed Madame Fortier, waving. When Belle left, she strode straight to a few rolls of white satin on the shelves, taking them down and searching for the finest fabric in her stock.

"Most peculiar _mademoiselle_," she sang to herself, and sighed dreamily as she smoothed the fine white satin and took out some pale blue ribbon.

* * *

"Papa! I'm ready!" Belle called out to her father. Maurice had fixed the wagon wheel, and he passed her by as he was trying to make certain it would stay secure.

"Belle, I am taking a test run on the wheel, meet me at the fountain, I am going to circle the wagon, just a minute or two!" he yelled back.

Belle, a little impatient, kept walking at a fast pace and lingered near the fountain. She had all sorts of conflicted feelings in her mind. The confrontation with the triplets had bothered her, but now it was soothed somewhat by the warmth and friendliness of both the baker's wife and the seamstress.

Yet, she couldn't help feeling that they might only be acting nice toward her because of the fact she was marrying a Prince. It was making her a sort of instant celebrity, and that was not something she was comfortable with. She wanted to get back home to the castle- to Adam- as soon as possible.

The afternoon was getting late, there came a chill and dark clouds settled in. She wanted to be back in the castle's library, by the fire, finishing her novel she'd started the day before. A minute went by, and Papa still hadn't circled back around. She noticed that Monsieur Libre's bookshop down the street was closed, as usual on Saturdays, and hoped for a chance to visit him someday. Right in front of her was the village tavern. It made her uneasy, since it had been Gaston's.

She stared at the door of the tavern. It was closed, but smoke rose from the chimney. She wondered, if what the triplets had voiced so angrily was commonly felt here, how the men were feeling about his demise. She felt like she was in the presence of enemies, lurking nearby. Perhaps- if she were brave enough…

Belle slowly walked away from the fountain and to the side of the tavern. It was a merry, happy building, the center of the village men's social life. It always smelled of beer, tobacco, and pipe smoke, not unpleasant but it had a foreign, rough, very _male_, atmosphere. Her curiosity got the best of her. She stood close to the corner of a slightly open window.

She heard voices- no, just one voice, she thought. A man was speaking, what sounded like a long-winded speech to someone else, but the other person hadn't entered the conversation. He sounded soft, sad and reverent. She could barely make out the words.

"…get this place running again, I promise. I'll make you proud. I dunno, maybe you'd kill me for doing this but I really think…"

Belle tilted her head to peer into the window at an angle. Her heart sank, the same guilt feeling she had when the triplets approached her.

Lefou was standing in front of the fireplace, and Belle noticed that no one else was there. He was alone, talking to no one, other than the portrait of Gaston on the wall. He was placing bouquets of red roses in beer tankards and setting them up on the mantle, and was deeply engaged in a one-way conversation.

"...Andre tasted the stuff, so did Stanley, they like it. Honest. Yeah, I know, you only liked the beer from Thionville, but I'm gonna make two different flavors, so the guys'll..."

Belle hadn't recognized his voice at first, because it was quite a different tone than what she'd known of Gaston's little hanger-on. All she'd ever heard from him before were mocking wisecracks and silly, chuckling laughter.

"...sorry about all the red roses, they're from the triplets, not me. I would've got you something else..."

Tears of regret sprang to Belle's eyes. Part of her wanted to be brave, go in, confront him and tell him she didn't mean for it to turn out that way. The grieving man at least deserved to hear that she was truly sorry. But she couldn't do it.

_Perhaps he'd hear the news of the Beast's "death" from someone else_, she rationalized. She glanced at the portrait above where Lefou was standing, and was not proud of the feelings that surfaced. That horrible man. That rude, conceited, _monster_ of a man. _Poor, naïve Lefou,_ Belle thought. _He's better off without him_. Gaston used and abused the smaller man so much. But then, why was Belle even feeling sorry for him? She remembered how he'd taunted her father when D'Arque from the asylum came for him, the mocking, the snickering. She decided the last thing she wanted to do was to speak to the little man in the tavern. Besides, he wouldn't appreciate her just stumbling in.

She heard the familiar sound of Phillipe's and Antoinette's hoofbeats. Papa was rolling back through with the wagon, the Shire horses fully rested and fed. Belle wiped an eye and quickly walked back to the fountain. She had no reason to be near the tavern peeking into windows anyway. It was time to go home.

"So how is your wedding planning coming along, Belle?" Maurice said, grinning. He was in a happier mood, anxious to get back to Mrs. Potts at the castle.

"It's coming along all right. Papa. Thank you," she answered softly.

She was very quiet on the ride back home, through the forest and uphill toward the highlands and Adam's castle. She felt as if she was closing the book on her life in the village with finality.* She would be happy to allow the two women to help with the wedding if they wished, but she would send the servants there to interact with them. She no longer belonged there; either she was an outcast, or a person to gawk at and fawn over. Neither made her comfortable. _Adam, I hope so much they accept you, not just as Prince, but as a person- if any of them do come to our wedding, she thought._

Early evening fell as they neared the castle; it was chilly but peaceful; and the soft howl of a wolf was heard, far and distant.

* * *

_A.N. * The phrase about Belle 'closing the book on her life in the village' was an idea given to me by TrudiRose, at the last Writers' Workshop. Thanks for the help on this chapter Trudi!_


	9. Someone Watching Over Them

Chapter 9- Someone Watching Over Them

Belle and Maurice arrived back home to the castle to find Adam pacing strenuously about the Great Hall. As soon as he saw them, he rounded on them and demanded to know what took them so long.

"You have been away all day. I was worried about you, in that village with those backstabbing people!" he spat out angrily.

"Adam, it is all right. It's just a village. And it is a peaceful place. Not everyone there is a 'backstabber'... although I can understand you feeling that way. Adam, you are their Prince, and they are excited about you! I even found some ladies there who wish to help us with the wedding cake, and even a dressmaker. I feel that Yves and Georges should be allowed to retire." Belle calmly explained.

"Retire? They are the best tailors around! Look at the suit they made for me!" Adam indicated his blue jacket and breeches, pulling on his lapels.

"Yes, but all they did is make your old suit much smaller, Adam. To be honest, they don't have the nimble fingers they used to. But I will not visit the village much anyway. I will ask Madame de la Grande Bouche to take care of wedding details there."

"Thank you, Belle," Adam replied, much calmer. "You are almost sounding like a future princess, now." He stroked the strands of Belle's hair at her temple that always tended to fall from her ponytail. "But I will still love you in spite of that." He crinkled his blue eyes at her in a playful grin.

Belle blushed. She never cared to be a royal, it was overwhelming to her. All she wanted was to avoid the tongue-wagging of the villagers as much as she could. At the moment, she also wanted to relax. "I am going to the library; would you like to go along and read with me?"

"Yes, I... I would like that." said Adam, sheepishly. Belle took Adam's arm and they headed to the library, where they enjoyed a few quiet hours by the fire. Belle read her novel, and Adam attempted to get interested in a book as well, but he preferred staring at his ladylove's face as she sat curled up in a plush chair. Bored with the book after a while, he took a nap on the opposite chair.

Later, Madame de la Grande Bouche insisted that Belle try on the yellow gown again, after Belle's request that Madame bring it into the village seamstress. A group of maids, including Mrs. Potts, watched in giddy excitement as Madame zipped up Belle's gown. It was a little tight.

"Chef Thierry's chocolate eclairs," said Belle regretfully, holding her breath.

"Oh, yes, they are heavenly! I will simply tell the village seamstress to add an inch to the wedding gown, don't go trying to starve, now!" said Madame, fawning over Belle's dress, and smoothing her hair. "Have you thought of a hair trim? Your ends are quite dry."

"I'll trim your hair, Mistress Belle!" exclaimed Pauline, a small young brown-haired maid who, like Babette, had been one of the feather dusters.

"I am going to the village tomorrow, to meet with the seamstress." Madame announced. "I also would like someone else from the staff to come along and meet with the baker about the cakes. This person will be asked to go alone to the village later if possible, because I decided to take a trip to Paris to see about new formal wear for everyone on staff."

"New dresses for us?" Pauline exclaimed excitedly. The other girls beamed with joy.

"Yes, my dears, new dresses and suits for all of us!" sang Madame. "You girls have grown up so; why, Pauline, you were just twelve before our...ordeal started, and Sophie and Valerie, you were both fourteen back then! You all have nothing to wear to this wedding and I will take care of it. Of course, I admit I am just _dying_ to see Paris again! So I need a substitute. Someone needs to pick up goods from the village merchants. Would anyone like to volunteer?"

"Oh, I would! I'd love to see the village! And Michel taught me everything about driving the horses!" exclaimed Sophie, a short and plump, pretty-faced blonde maid who had been the heart-shaped pink armchair. She eagerly waved her hand behind Valerie, a tall, thin raven-haired maid, almost as lovely as Belle, who had been the heart-shaped green armchair.

"Excellent. But you need to ask Cogsworth's permission first, as you work in the kitchen, and we need plenty of hands there as well," said Madame de la Grande Bouche. Sophie nodded and smiled, optimistically.

Madame and the group of maids headed downstairs to tend to their daily duties. Mrs. Potts lingered behind with Belle. "How have things been with you lately, Mrs. Potts?" asked Belle.

"Why, just lovely, dear. Life could not be better, I must say," she replied.

Mrs. Potts was taken aback; not many people really asked her how she was doing. She was always there, always kindly serving others, but never one to reveal much about what she was feeling or how her life went. They walked downstairs together, heading for the kitchens where the older woman was certain to put on a pot of tea.

"I see you have been getting along very nicely with Papa," said Belle, as they entered the enormous kitchen, greeting Chef Thierry, who was busily preparing roasts with his crew of ten helpers. They greeted Belle with bows and echos of "Your Grace." Mrs. Potts lit a stovetop with a match and put a kettle on.

"Your father? Oh, yes, well, he is a very delightful person, indeed he is," said Mrs. Potts, slightly flustered and averting her eyes from Belle's.

Just then, Maurice entered the kitchen. "Hi Emmeline! I'm starving again, are there any croissants left to tide me over until dinner?'

"You know I always make extra since you love them so, Maurice," Mrs. Potts answered warmly, taking a basket from the cupboard filled with leftover croissants. She set a few near the stove to rewarm, but Maurice took one and happily munched on it as Mrs. Potts poured him some tea. "Would you care for a cup, Belle dear?" she asked.

"Yes, thank you, Mrs. Potts. I would, it was chilly outside on the way home," She accepted a cup of hot tea, and headed for the library again, happy and contented as her father and Mrs. Potts begin to chat.

* * *

Less than a mile away from the castle grounds, in the deep forest, three fat, lop-eared rabbits hopped about in the underbrush. The little creatures spoke amongst each other with the voices of men. They were impatient, and not very happy.

"Father, how could you fall for that trick! Why did you not draw your wand the moment you turned around! You allowed her a surprise attack!" one of the rabbits exclaimed.

"Bastien, son, you could have done the same, if you now claim to be as skillful a Sorceror as I am. Perhaps this shall be a lesson to us all. Now we must wait four more days. _Lapin_ is a minor spell, it is only supposed to last five days. We must consider ourselves lucky," replied Fabien LaBarre, now in the form of a different animal than the one he was accustomed to.

"Lucky? And be eaten by _real_ wolves whilst we wait for it to wear off!" said Bastien the sable-colored rabbit, trying to control the urge to jump on top of his younger brother, Benoit, to assert his dominance. _This is crazy_- _stop it!_ he thought. Benoit, who was an identical sable-color, hopped away from his brother in annoyance.

"Quit looking at me like that!" exclaimed Benoit.

"Sorry. I keep wanting to jump on top of you and I do not know why. I am also really craving some sweet clover right now," admitted Bastien, sheepishly.

"So am I." admitted Fabien. He twitched his rabbit nose. "I sense some over in the meadow. But we must find shelter from predators until this infernal spell of Delphine's wears off!" He led his sons to a patch of clover in the clearing.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the home of Quentin Dufresne, Quentin looked in approval at the Magic Mirror, showing the three Enchanters-turned-rabbits hopping about in the forest near Adam's castle. Delphine watched his expression, hoping for the smallest hint of praise.

"Very amusing, Delphine. Good ambush. And if our luck holds out, a bona-fide wolf shall come along and have a good meal, and the fool LaBarres will be no more," said Quentin.

"I must go back now. Prince Adam goes outdoors to the castle grounds every day, taking walks. I have seen him about with his lady, the one who broke the spell. Without the LaBarres, he shall be easier prey the next few days," Delphine said with breathy enthusiasm. "Adieu for now, Father!"

She disappeared from the room in a flash of white light.

She reappeared in the forest, the same forest where the LaBarre men were stuck as rabbits for four more days. During those four days, Delphine camped out and spied on Adam and Belle as they took their walks along the castle grounds and through the forest paths. She never came close enough to be seen, but from what she heard of their conversations, it was banal, sweet talk about their love for each other, their wedding plans.

Hatred and spite filled her heart. She knew that she had no love in her own heart, only hate now, while Adam's heart was filled to bursting with love. The very thing she had tried to punish him for, she now was guilty of. She felt no love for _anyone_ anymore, now that Lamont had left her for a mortal, of all things. She didn't even need to become a permanent old hag, he had rejected her already.

Mortals and their _love_- how could love be such a powerful force as to defeat her magic? How could love truly transcend the monstrous appearance of an enormous horned Beast? Who was this girl?

Hiding in her conjured tent on a craggy mountainside, Delphine waited, alone and bitter. Days passed. When she could stand it no more, she ventured toward the castle grounds one more time.

Her hands squeezed her magic wand in anticipation. She _had_ to cast a curse on someone today. She had to make someone else feel pain, and follow her father's orders. As she neared the beautiful, slightly snow-dusted lawn of the castle grounds, she transformed herself into a cedar tree, and hid amongst the patch of similar cedar trees near it.

Here, she could see the comings and goings of the castle residents, as the trees faced the front entrance. Far away, near the West Wing of the castle, she could see a couple walking, their laughter carrying through the chill early spring air. Squinting, she could tell that the man was not Prince Adam. He was very thin and lanky. The young woman with him was very small, but with shorter, darker hair than Adam's ladylove. She was dressed as a maid. No_,_ that was not who she wanted to approach. _Would she see them soon?_

She didn't have to wait very long. There they were, exiting the castle's side entrance! Prince Adam and his young woman, walking in the distance. They were going to the other side of the castle. _Turn him back into the Beast_, her father had ordered. But how? It could only be done with a reason. That was the law. If she pointed her wand and spoke the incantation _'Homme Bête'_ at him without proper protocol, it would backfire- and the spell would enter her instead. The mortal Prince would have to behave in a way to deserve it, it was meant to be a punishment for ugliness on the inside. He had changed. Delphine was now the one who was a beast on the inside.

Father was watching her in the Mirror, now, she knew it. The happy couple disappeared into the forest, hand in hand. Confound it! Delphine was frozen and conflicted in her state as a cedar tree. She didn't know what to do next. She watched as four guards passed through the grounds. The guards walked to where the prince and his lady had ventured, and followed them into the forest. Shortly after that, a woman drove a wagon pulled by a Shire horse out of the castle grounds, past Delphine's tree-form, and out the front gate.

A few minutes later, two children came running in Delphine's direction. One of them, a little blond boy of six or seven, ran straight to where Delphine's cedar tree form stood still, and began playing in the trees. She watched him as he frolicked about happily. The older child was a young girl of about eleven or twelve, dressed as a maid. She watched over the little boy as he played, then she sat down on the ground only feet away from Delphine. She took out a book and began to read.

The little boy ran over to a very tall evergreen tree nearby, at the corner of the castle's East Wing, and shouted something to the girl. He started climbing it. The young girl glanced up at him.

"No, you shouldn't do that, Chip! It's too dangerous!" she yelled to him. The boy disobeyed and kept climbing, while the girl looked slightly annoyed, and decided to go back to reading her book.

A moment later, the boy slipped, and tumbled to the ground, falling flat on his back. He began to cry. The girl looked up and panicked. "Chip!" she screamed. She ran towards him to help.

Delphine's mood brightened. Here was a mortal girl who had made a mistake in judgement, who was feeling guilty for her irresponsibility. Delphine could see it. It was deserving of at least a ten-point, short term Transformation Hex. And if the little boy was guilty of disobedience, it would be double the points. Even though she couldn't curse Adam just yet, she decided to take this opportunity.

She transformed out of the form of a cedar tree and into her green-gowned, elegant self, facing the two children with a look of icy sternness. _Father, I hope you are watching. What shall I do- Rabbit? Earthworm? Or shall they go back to inanimate objects as they had been?_

The two children looked at her with curiosity at first, which soon turned to fear.


	10. Life Goes on in the Village

Chapter 10- Life goes on in the Village

Gaston had been dead and buried for nearly a month, and most of the villagers were adjusting to life without him and moving on. Gilles and Stanley still had a decent venture with the farm and the butcher shop. Because of the sheep incident, they were able to do just as well, if not better, than before. Two of Gilles' ewes gave birth to a litter of unusually large lambs, and he also decided to invest in some new cows. Stanley had been visited by Andre's two sons, who were regularly bringing in some delectable wild turkeys.

Andre and Marie were very busy making refreshments for the royal wedding; something Andre was reluctant to do at first, but after his wife's convincing, he realized it was in his own best interest. A mysterious, elegant lady by the name of Madame de la Grande Bouche, a representative of the palace, had come in to order a _croqembouche_ cake to be made, much to Marie's delight. The whole town was beginning to feel in a festive mood, being so closely tied now with the Lost Prince's upcoming nuptials.

The Beaudette girls sat in their cottage, commiserating as usual. "Madame Desjardins said she was visited by members of the Prince's staff today," announced Mimi, nervously. She felt at the moment like she was a traitor to her own sisters.

"Why do we care? Snooty little Belle and her Prince, that's all the other ladies around here want to talk about!" spat Fifi.

"I could care less about the royal wedding!" agreed Gigi.

"But don't you think it's an opportunity?" said Mimi, brightening. "If we attend, we may have a chance at meeting other men someday-"

"I don't _want_ another man! I only loved Gas-"

"Stop it, Gigi! We need to go on with our lives. Do you want to end up like Lefou is right now, going half-crazy?" argued Mimi.

"No." Gigi squeaked.

"I haven't wanted to go in the tavern anymore either. Too many sad memories," sighed Mimi. "But one day I walked in to bring some flowers to that memorial thing he has set up, and he was talking to Gaston's painting. I think it's harder for him, since we all have each other. Gaston was like a brother to him, really. I'm…so glad to have you both as sisters!"

"Lefou has a sister," Fifi offered.

"Yes, but she's awful. Gaston was much nicer to him than she is. But I was saying- you are such wonderful sisters, Fifi- Gigi! It's like we are three people in one! No one can take that away!"

"Group hug!" squealed Fifi. The sisters all jumped up and collided into each other, embracing.

Gigi wiped her eyes. "It's so hard," she sobbed, "we all miss him so much, but we are all in this together. Maybe someday, we could be happy again."

"Gigi, I ... don't want to be a spinster forever, and I'll always remember Gaston, but-" Mimi widened her eyes in a realization of hope. "We might meet some dreamy gentlemen at the royal wedding ball! There will be a ball, you know."

"A ball?" asked Fifi, blankly.

"Yes! You know what a ball is, right?"

"Of course I know what it is, Mimi! What should we wear?"

"I'm wearing red, what else?" Gigi said, still sniffling, but trying desperately to cheer herself up.

"I think I'll go with...green! Light green, like spring!" declared Fifi. "What about you, Mimi?"

"Purple!" declared Mimi.

"What? That'll confuse Maman! She has color-coded us since we were babies!"

"Let's go out!" said Gigi. "I know this town doesn't think too well of us, but I don't care. We are the Beaudette Triplets, and we were the beautiful mistresses of Gaston! They're all just jealous!"

The triplets left their cottage and sashayed, arm in arm, over to Madame and Monsieur Fortier's tailor shop.

* * *

The tavern was starting to pick up business again as well. Lefou was making two different flavors of homemade ale, and his father, Claude-Robert, never saw him much. He worked at brewing from sunup to sundown, putting some of the flavorful liquor in the tap barrels and some in glass bottles to save for later, as well as evening bartending. When he ran out of barley, he would often use old ripe apples and various fruits from Gilles' farm and throw together a tasty brew that resembled apple cider. One day, Andre brought over some of his delicious cinnamon rolls, and so Lefou decided to pick some up every day from the bakery and serve them in the tavern as well. Every night the tavern smelled delightfully of apples and cinnamon.

The men who came in the evenings liked the taste of the new ales, despite their not having as high of an alcoholic content as Gaston's favorite old beer. Because of this, the mood of the patrons changed. There was less brawling, less fighting, and less drunken foolishness. Lefou himself was feeling more clear-headed, which made him miss Gaston even more, but instead of drowning in drink, he used the portrait on the wall for a therapeutic outlet daily. He was not going insane. At least he hoped he wasn't. It was just the only way he could deal with life at the moment.

He only tried to talk to Gaston's image when he was alone. Once in a while, he was caught, and one morning was a prime example.

"_You lunatic_!" screeched a loud, brash woman's voice.

"Huh? Uh, hello, Iolanthe."

He greeted his sister, not too enthusiastically. Iolanthe Lefou was older than her brother by several years, a spinster in her mid-thirties. She was five-foot-eleven and built like a barge, with unfortunate, mannish features. Tall, large people did appear in Lefou's family tree, but by some odd joke of nature, it was always the girls.

He quickly stepped away from the picture and went back to dispensing ale in glass bottles. Iolanthe followed him, ranting.

"So, I go out to the marketplace, trying to find some decent bacon for a change, but all there is is old fish, like always! And fish seller Gauthier says 'Bonjour, aren't you the sister of the new tavern keeper, who was Gaston's friend?' I say 'yes, I unfortunately am.' He says, 'He's half-cracked, he talks to himself in the pub all day when it's closed!' "

"This is what I hear! And even back when Gaston was still alive! I remember last St. Valentine's Day, at the church tea. My friends were talking about you standing in the snow for so long that some of their kids made you into a snowman! And Cecile said that she was glad, at least Gaston didn't tell you to stand in the fountain wearing nothing but angel wings and holding a crossbow! Oh yes! Maybe you're not fit to run a business! Best piece of real estate in town, and it belongs to the town fool!"

"Guess so." Lefou didn't look up, he busied himself with arranging bottles in a neat stack on the bar, lining them up exactly two inches apart.

"I'm getting to be the laughingstock of this village! You know why?" the tall woman pressed.

Lefou finally looked up at her. "Your unibrow?"

"NO! It's because of your insanity! I am on good friendly terms with Paul d'Arque,"- her younger brother smiled a little at the thought they'd be a perfect couple- "and I might have to tell him that you need some serious _help_! You need all the help you can get! I ought to be the one running this tavern!" After this loud declaration, Iolanthe turned on her heel and stomped out the front door. Lefou watched her and turned to the painting.

"Ah nuts, Gaston! I guess I'm going to the Maison des Lunes, all because of you."

He found himself collapsing in chuckling laughter, which turned to maniac laughter, and he could almost imagine Gaston's loud booming guffaw coming from the large painting over the fireplace.

* * *

The next Thursday was marketplace day in Molyneux. Springtime was in the air; the sun thawed the land and most of the snow had melted. Everyone who had a product to sell had set up booths in the village square, hoping to entice customers to buy more than usual and introduce new products.

Lefou was trying to sell his homemade ale and other drinks in the market square as well, since the weaker cinderkin made from apples could be drunk by women and children, who were obviously not evening patrons of the tavern. Being away from the early day solitude of the tavern and the comforting presence of Gaston's portrait surrounded by roses, Lefou was irritated and saddened by the bustling and happiness of everyone milling about the town square. It seemed like no one else was grieving over Gaston anymore.

Stanley and Andre came over and purchased several bottles of ale, then went back to work. The triplets skipped by, giggling, arms locked together just as they used to when they were innocent maidens pining for Gaston.

"Hi!" chirped the one in yellow. Mimi, he was sure. She was always the one who would at least gave him the time of day.

"Hello," he answered quietly, looking down intently at the wood grain patterns on the table.

"We will buy some ale from you! We're sooo thirsty!" offered the one in green._ Fifi_, thought Lefou. She was the one who always had the most empty-headed facial expressions. They tossed some franc-pieces on the table, took three bottles of mild barley ale, then strode away happily.

"Mmmm, tasty!"

"Hope you sell some more!"

"Good luck!" they called back to him cheerily.

He didn't understand why they could be recovering so. They could not possibly have met new men- at least no one who could be as tall, or as strong, as... Well, he had learned from Gaston the last winter that they were the type that his father would call 'soiled doves.' In that case, maybe they just didn't care now. He was glad the hopeless crush he used to have on those three had faded over the last months.

From where Lefou was standing in the marketplace, he could see up the hillside where Saint Lucien Church stood, its graveyard certainly there behind it. Gaston was there, physically. Forever. He wondered where his soul was.

He hoped and prayed that Gaston had gone to Pere Gerard-Emile for confession, because he had certainly done bad things in his life. But couldn't the good things- like pulling Lefou from the water when he was a boy, providing so well for the village, and trying to protect the village from a Beast- outweigh the bad things Gaston had done? There was what he had done in the upstairs room with the triplets without marrying any of them, his blackmail plot (did he care about the girl's feelings? He never had to. Caring about people's feelings was something regular people had to do. Gaston was above and beyond regular folks, and that was that.) And finally, there was his arranging for the harmless oddball, Maurice DeFleur, to be thrown in the asylum.

Now, _that_ one was something Lefou had been dragged into, and he knew in his heart it was wrong. Maurice, crazy as he was, wasn't such a bad old guy. But come on- _who_ could say no to Gaston? Well, he knew who _could,_ and she had vanished to the mysterious castle. Andre was saying something about her being engaged to a prince. So that was probably it. Gaston wasn't good enough for her! The great hunter had tried to slay the Beast, tried to get some sense back into that deluded girl, and died as a result. This was what Andre, Gilles and Stanley had opined at the tavern one night. And now, where could he have gone after death?

Wishing for a sign, Lefou looked up at the blue sky, filled with fluffy white clouds. One cloud was curiously shaped like a giant sheep. He imagined Gaston up somewhere beyond that cloud, chasing after the giant sheep that Lefou had sent into the afterlife. Maybe he'd been given a new blunderbuss by angels, perhaps? That thought was comforting. But then, how could Gaston kill an animal that was already dead? How could his soul be happy if he couldn't hunt?

Lefou needed to stop thinking so much.

A group of laughing children ran by. Jacques Jauquet, the rotund cheesemaker, and his new wife Colette, the red-haired former barmaid, walked by, hand in hand. Lefou felt like he was going to be sick if he saw one more happy person. He looked down at the table and counted francs for a minute, then glanced up again.

Another happy person, skipping merrily toward him, swinging a basket filled with baguettes. _Will this day ever end? _

At first glance, he thought it was Andre's wife Marie. _Great, I have to say hello to her and she will talk my ear off._ _Maybe I'll buy a croissant. I'm starving_. But as the woman came closer, he realized it wasn't Marie, she was younger, about his own age, with light blonde hair falling in waves to her shoulders. He had never seen her before.

Lefou studied her as she bounced on by, a glow of pure joy on her apple-cheeked face. He lapsed into the old habit of assessing a girl and guessing if Gaston would pursue her or not. She didn't have the type of looks Gaston would have desired. She was short, ample and rounded, a cute dumpling of a girl in a cranberry-red skirt and white apron. She glanced directly at him, spotted the ale bottles he had in front of him, and made an abrupt turn, right to his sales booth.

"Oh! Hi, I was looking for some beverages. I need to purchase a great amount of them, there is a very important VIP affair that my boss needs it for. How much- monsieur?" she inquired in a sweet voice.

"Um...uh, it's two sous a bottle- how many do you need?"

"All of it!"

"Everything here?" He had about two large wooden crates full. If he sold them all to her, he could be done with this tedious day and go back to the tavern, be alone with the portrait, and maybe sleep.

"If you can, monsieur," she said. She was fumbling with a coin bag filled with money, and she set it upon the table, trying to count her coins awkwardly. One coin dropped, and she picked it up. When she stood again, he noticed that she could only be about one or two inches taller than him.

"I- I only have ten francs left," she said. A little shy smile played on her lips, her cheeks turning pink. Lefou wondered where she was from, but didn't think it was his business to ask.

He had priced each crate at ten francs, which put the whole stock at twenty. If he cut the price in half for her, he could be done. He felt the need to be chivalrous. He never got the chance to be chivalrous toward a lady who would appreciate it. He'd tried to open doors for the triplets hundreds of times, only to have them yank the doorknob away from him and slam him between the door and the wall.

"You can have it all for that. Ten francs, I mean. I'll cut the price in half for you." He couldn't help it, but he smiled back at her, knowing it was probably his dumb dopey smile showing the gap between his two front teeth.

The woman's face lit up even more. "Really? Wait- how do I know it's any good? Could I taste a sample, or do I need to ask a man around here to taste it for me?"

"You can taste some. I don't make my ales very strong. Well-" he added sheepishly- "this stuff here is mostly apple juice." He uncorked a bottle for her. "Why, are you here in town alone?"

"You are too inquisitive for a peddler," she answered with a little laugh. She took a sip. "This is really good! You are very talented." She was beaming at him with delight, almost admiration, and Lefou felt a bit taken aback. That expression on a girl typically used to be seen on the Beaudette triplets, and it had been the expression always aimed at Gaston.

He could feel his cheeks flushing beet-red, and tried to hide that fact as he collected her ten francs and carried first one crate of ale, then the second to a wagon she led him to, where a big, cream-colored Shire horse was hitched. She pet the horse's pale mane affectionately, and talked to it while he loaded her wagon, which was filled with baskets of bakery items and vegetables. She climbed carefully up to the buckboard, and set to leave.

"You're driving this wagon all alone?" he managed to ask. Handling a big horse seemed an impressive task for a short woman like her. He was still a little nervous around Garçon-de-Tonnerre, Gaston's feisty and rather sinister-looking black stallion he had inherited and was planning to sell.

"No, Antoinette is with me."

"Your sister? Friend?"

"She's right in front of me," she replied, pointing to the horse. "We could pass as sisters, don't you think?"

"Um- no," said Lefou. He chuckled a little, and she giggled, grinning warmly at him. "Well, thank you, and goodbye!" The young woman shook the sturdy horse's reins and sped off.

The ale now sold, Lefou headed back to the pub. In a few hours, he would open it and hope that the two tap barrels were enough for the men that night. He glanced back at the blonde woman, trying to race her horse and loaded wagon out of the village. Those few minutes spent in her company had felt like a ray of sunshine on a gloomy day. For the first time he was aware, a cute woman had shown friendly attention toward him. He would probably never see her again.

The sky became overcast and dull, and the painful, Gaston-sized void returned to the little tavern keeper's heart. Yet somehow, this day, it didn't hurt quite as much. He realized now that he possessed things that his best friend, who he'd spent years longing to be like, would never have- hope, life, and a future.

Lefou glanced up at the portrait and sighed. "Gone a month now, Gaston. I still can't believe it," he said as he got ready to make it through another 'put on a smile and fill a tankard' evening, in the provincial little town of Molyneux.

_Finis_

* * *

_A.N. Well, that is the hanging conclusion to this story. I have pretty much managed to knit together the end of this story with the beginning of __"The New Order in the Castle," my very first fanfic I wrote last year. It picks up where this ends. The Enchantress scene in Chapter 9 here continues in Chapter 2 of 'New Order.' Sorry about the cliffhanger, and not going back to it here! I thought of tacking on more of the same scene in Delphine's POV but it sounded redundant. So I decided to wrap this up with the villagers at the end. Including a shameless little plug for Walt Disney World in Orlando, did you find it in this chapter?_

_I also worked on re-editing and improving "The New Order in the Castle" in light of this story, to make the two compliment each other better. _

_I mostly wrote "Little Town" to set up a background for the Enchantress, for the fact she is the main antagonist in "The New Order." And I was intrigued with the idea of exploring a person's grief process. It wasn't realistic for Lefou and the triplets to completely get over the loss of Gaston in this story. It takes some time, and I tried to make each person different, and imagine how each one felt._

_Thank you for the reviews! And SPECIAL thanks to TrudiRose for previewing and some characterization insights (that Belle!) that were very helpful! -Civilwarrose_


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